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A Mother of Unborn 
Generations 

A NOVEL 

BY 

Stuart Kencarden 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
835 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 



Copyright, 1912, 

BY 

STUART KENCARDEN 


.?/,r 

^C!.A314434 


PROLOGUE 


Three young men, ran^ng in ages from twenty- 
two to twenty-five, sat listening to vocal and in- 
strumental music of familiar and popular airs borne 
on the smoke-laden atmosphere of a New York 
east side concert garden. They appeared much at 
ease and in harmonious accord with their environ- 
ments as they dreamily scanned the surroundings, 
occasionally spoke and sipped at a beverage from 
glasses confronting them upon a table around which 
they sat. 

The place of entertainment was a fairly large 
auditorium. It had stage at one end, elevated a 
few feet above the small orchestra in front and the 
audience beyond, with proscenium, wings and drop 
scene at the back containing a rural view of sylvan 
beauty and stream. The stage as well as the body 
of the hall possessed many of the usual embellish- 
ments of such places. At each outward corner of 
the former a huge potted palm reared its stately 
proportions ceilingward and mural decorations of 
bunting, flags and strings of festooned imitation 
flowers gave color to the latter. 

All over the hall sat people smoking and drinking 
at small round tables. The surroundings would 
have been anything but edifying to those of refined 
and lofty tastes despite how refreshing and enter- 
taining they might be for the time being to less 
fastidious mortals and overwrought nerves, brains 
and muscles. 


1 


ii 


PROLOGUE 


There were plenty of the latter present here as 
there might have been at many other gatherings in 
the great city, for they were a fair representative 
of its denizens, young, old, vigorous, worn, de- 
crepit, dissipated, blase, loud, boastful, staid and 
quiet, and the atmosphere and environments seemed 
to afford much satisfaction and pleasure. 

Upon both the animate and inanimate surround- 
ing objects the numerous bright glittering lights 
shed a soft radiance and sparkle, throwing a glow- 
ing mantle of sheen over much that was tawdry 
and sordid, and with the imbibed potations lending 
a sparkle to the eye and a flush to the countenances, 
imparting a healthy tint to unhealthy, worn counte- 
nances, softening harsh features of men, making 
painted faces of women shine with the glow of 
health, mellowing the scene into one harmonious 
picture as at eventide the mild rays of the orb of 
day with the gathering soft twilight will mellow the 
face of nature and make it radiant. 

The lights and the sparkle, the sheen and the glit- 
ter, the braid and the tinsel, the cheap decorations, 
all hid much that was sordid and mean in the sur- 
roundings as the imbibed potations hid much that 
was hollow, forbidding, dark and base in the minds 
and in the countenances of those gathered about. 

Drinking, laughter, jest and raillery went on 
apace and kept in harmonious accord with song and 
music. The hard realities of life — the struggle for 
existence, the passing unremitting years, the light 
purse, the sometimes failing health, even the stalk- 
ing spectre of death about — were all forgotten for 
the time being, except by the few. All over the 
hall flitted waiters to the sound of clinking glasses, 
taking orders, replenishing empty glasses by filled 
ones of various beverages. The waiters were kept 
very busy as the night was the last of the week, 


PROLOGUE iii 

and as was generally the case on Saturday night. 

The vocal music was rendered by five females, 
the main lines of the ditties by a female of uncer- 
tain age with rather melodious voice. The latter 
was very much powdered and dyed and resplendent 
in raiments of many gorgeous hues, the lower gar- 
ments reaching but to the knees. She was assisted 
in the chorus by the other four, equally powdered, 
dyed and gorgeously clad companions who were of 
fewer years, but of less harmonious voices. They 
rose from their seats at the rear of the stage and 
came forward to the other side as they joined in the 
refrain. 

“Say Au Revoir, but not Good-bye,’" was the 
popular ditty at this instant that was being ren- 
dered. It was much in vogue at this period and 
heard far and near. Here it gave the utmost sat- 
isfaction for encore after encore called for its repe- 
tition, some of the audience even joining in the re- 
frain in their evident great pleasure or satisfaction 
experienced by the melody. 

From a close scrutiny of the appearance of the 
motley throng of men and women belonging to the 
many walks of life, chiefly those who tread the hard 
read of existence, most of them by far of the mas- 
culine gender, there being but a sprinkling of the 
other sex present, the inference could be readily 
drawn that the before-mentioned organs, the nerves, 
brains and muscles, were much in need of recrea- 
tion, rest and repair. There were a fortunate few, 
however, whose paths through life seemed to be 
easy ones, but these were evidently rarities. It was 
thoroughly an American throng, American in all at 
least that goes to make up this great modern nation 
with all its divers types of humanity, they or their 
near forbear drawn from all quarters of the globe, 
generally with pale strained countenances indica- 


IV 


PROLOGUE 


live of the hard and eager struggle for existence, 
wealth and uplift. 

The great diversity of racial types present could 
be seen at a glance. Upon the countenances of 
many could be traced unmistakably some peculiar 
imprint of feature of the race from which they had 
originally sprung. Besides this great diversity of 
national lineamental stamp there was that strange 
variety of cast of features, much resembling the 
lower species of the animal creation, among a 
sprinkling of these mixed human types. Some 
faces were broad and ox-like in contour with ox- 
like stolidity looking therefrom ; some were narrow 
and weasel-like with weasel like cunning stamped 
thereon; some were porcine with porcine grossness 
gazing out their eyes ; some were Simian with that 
peculiar Simian look of wisdom about them; some 
were even bird-like with bird-of-prey lust gleaming 
from their countenances. 

Sitting at a table alone was the pale, worn coun- 
tenanced sweat-shop slave, an importation of a few 
years from the northeast of Europe, the descendant 
of generations of stunted minds and bodies from 
which nearly all had been squeezed that was 
squeezable by the more fortunate brethren of the 
earth, and who was now undergoing a similar 
squeezing process in the new land which he had 
sought for betterment and uplift. He smiled 
sickily as he sipped his drink and the fumes of the 
liquor mounted to his weakened brain. 

At another table was a group of boisterously 
mirthful well-fed looking men of all ages. Among 
them was the unmistakable fat body and porcine 
face of an ex-bartender who had fallen heir to a 
political sinecure by his skill and obsequiousness 
in serving out concoctions across the bar of a Bow- 
ery saloon to influential and popular politicians of 


PROLOGUE 


V 


that neighborhood. He now, with his companions, 
laughed heartily at his own gross joke, or rather 
what was considered a joke by them, in which the 
name of the principal coin of the realm figured 
prominently, made in reply to a request for alms by 
a rather pretty Salvation Army lass who had ven- 
tured within the portals of the amusement place. 

Amid a dense cloud of smoke arising from an- 
other table sat a group of low-paid, pale-faced 
clerks who managed to make some pretense at lead- 
ing a fast life by the aid of cheap rooms, cheap 
meals and the mid-day lunch counter of the drink- 
ing saloon. They assumed a general pronounced 
air of cynicism as became men of the world as 
they sipped their beer, puffed at their cigarettes and 
ogled some painted and dyed females at another 
nearby table. There was a sprinkling of the latter 
types of females all about the place sitting drinking 
with men or in small groups at tables alone. 

A group of three of these gaudily painted and 
bedizened ones were sipping beer, giggling some- 
what loudly and casting occasional glances at any 
nearby member of the opposite sex who showed 
some evidence of prosperity or affluence. Those 
nearby who showed the most evidence of this, 
with the exception of the circle amid which was 
the ex-bartender, was the group of three young 
men first mentioned who had been sitting quietly 
viewing the surroundings. These soon became the 
target of the glances from the corresponding num- 
ber of female eyes. 

They were medical students making a farewell 
round of the city sights before separating for their 
homes after the conclusion of the spring course, 
which departure they had delayed till the subse- 
quent annual graduation which had just taken 
place, one of them to take part in it, and two of 


VI 


PROLOGUE 


them but to witness it. Though they showed no 
undue evidence of affluence, yet their superiority to 
the generality of those by whom they were sur- 
rounded was manifest at a glance. In their re- 
fined and cultured looking countenances in their 
physical proportions and dress, and in their general 
demeanor they showed this superiority to the gen- 
erality of those present. Their bodies were of that 
tall, straight, well-developed mould, their faces of 
that marked stamp with regular, clear-cut features 
and bright, alert, intelligence looking from their 
eyes, not uncommon among the American middle 
class where wealth does not injure and poverty does 
not crush. They were from divers and distant 
parts of this great country thrown together as com- 
rades and companions by attending the same col- 
lege and residing at the same boarding house. 

The eldest, Hilkley Tweedwell, had graduated 
with honors, and was to depart immediately for his 
home in a small city of Iowa and begin practice. 
Caldwell Winngath, who came from a small town 
in western Pennsylvania, had to attend college an- 
other year to complete his course, and John Long- 
worth, who was from the far West, the youngest 
of the trio, had but completed his first year. 

At last the three females succeeded in attracting 
thb notice of the young men. 

‘They are not bad looking, ’’ remarked Caldwell 
Winngath, apparently a trifle flattered by the no- 
tice of the opposite sex. 

“Why,'' he went on, critically eying one of them 
referred to, “I believe that youngest and lightest 
blond would be really good looking if she hadn't 
so much paint plastered on her face." 

“And less dye plastered on her hair," broke in 
Hilkley Tweedwell with a laugh. John Lang- 


PROLOGUE Vii 

worth was silent, but smiled at the remarks aftei 
glancing at the females. 

The popular ditty that had been rendered to 
three or four encores had at last died away amid 
hand-clapping of lesser boisterousness, and silence 
reigned save for the hum of voices and the occa- 
sional rattle of glasses. 

'‘What do you fellows say to joining them?” 
asked Hilkley Tweedwell. He put the question 
slowly with a quizzical look as if in doubt of the 
others acceeding to his suggestion. 

“You know,” he went on apologetically, without 
waiting for a reply, “this is likely our last night to- 
gether, and we’ll soon be scattered to the four 
winds of the earth ; so we ought to have a good 
time for the last — the last at least for me, with you 
two. I’ll be off to the West to-morrow likely, or 
the next day at the latest, to remain there. You, 
Winngath, go to old Pennsylvania to come back 
here again, and you Langworth — what?’^ 

“Yes, what!” echoed John Langworth with a 
thoughtful, far-away look. “I hardly know what. 
I may stay in New York and get something to do 
for the summer until college opens up in the fall. 
It will lessen the drain on my means, and be the 
wisest plan I think — much better than going to the 
expense of going all the way out West and coming 
back.” There was a growing sadness in his voice 
as he proceeded and a wistfulness in his look. 

It was the thought of his companions returning 
to their respective homes and friends, and his own 
homelessness and almost friendlessness, and the 
confronting problems that beset him that made him 
sad. He lapsed into a deeply meditative silence. 

“Well, don’t let us get sad now,” broke in Hilkley 
Tweedwell with forced gayety. “We’ve all been 
working hard until lately; so let us relax and be 


Vlll 


PROLOGUE 


merry for the time being ; we all have serious prob- 
lems enough confronting us. Drink up and let us 
join the ladies, who are evidently desirous of our 
company, and let us be merry.’’ 

Caldwell Winngath nodded an agreeing assent 
to the proposition, but John Langworth shook his 
head. 

“Why not?” asked Tweedwell. 

The one addressed did not reply immediately. 
He avoided the other’s gaze and looked away in the 
distance. “I hardly feel in the humor,” he then 
said wearily. “I feel like thinking to-night; think- 
ing of the past and — and the future. You know it 
is good to do that sometimes,” he went on, turning 
his face with a sad smile to his companions; “and 
I have not had much time to do that lately. But” — 
he suddenly changed his manner and tone to that 
of some genuine cheerfulness — “don’t let me spoil 
you fellows’ fun. Go, if you wish, and leave me to 
think out the problems of the future.” He laughed 
deprecatingly at them. 

The two eyed him quizically in silence for two or 
three moments. 

He returned a bland look of indifference. 

“Well, you are a queer fellow, Langworth,” re- 
marked Hilkley Tweedwell with a smile and a 
shake of the head. 

The one addressed nodded. “I know it,” he re- 
joined, with an apologetic laugh. “It is good to 
know one’s failings.” 

“I always thought you were a little prudish,” 
went on the former affably ; “but not so much as all 
this. However, Winngath” — he turned to the one 
addressed — “we’ll not spoil him ; and I know he’s a 
good fellow who selfishly would not want to spoil 
our amusement ; so he’ll excuse us for a time with- 
out any ill feeling, and we’ll leave him to his medi- 


PROLOGUE 


IX 


tations — leave our Joseph.’* He rose with a smile 
and Winngath followed him in his movements. 
"Yes,” he repeated, as he stood over his seated 
companion and smote him playfully on the shoulder 
with the flat of his hand as a parting salute, “we’ll 
leave our Joseph to his meditations for a little 
while.” 

They both turned laughing from the other, who 
good-naturedly returned the laugh, and they strode 
away with an occasional look back and laugh and 
seated themselves at the table among the females 
sought, to whom they now directed their entire at- 
tention, and the latter joined in the laughter. 

John Langworth’s mood was not a very cheerful 
one when he was left alone, though it was with a 
feeling of some relief that he saw his companions 
leave him. It annoyed him to be persuaded against 
his will, and he was glad that he did not have to 
submit to much of this. His eyes did not follow 
his companions though he heard them laughing 
with their new-found associates, and heard the 
name “Joseph” repeated by some of the females, 
but he paid no heed. A sadness grew upon him 
with a deeply meditative mood, and he soon became 
oblivious of these matters. 

His present loneliness did not concern him much. 
His thoughts were soon far away, though he looked 
toward the stage ; so far away that he was oblivious 
of the import of the words of the present ditty 
that now rang loudly throughout the hall from the 
somewhat discordant voices of the chorus. 

“East side, west side, all around the town,” was 
now the refrain. But it might have been the pre- 
vious one for all he was conscious of the contrary. 
He thought of his far-away home, the only one he 
had ever known, far away in the great Northwest 
where the plains merge into the foothills of the 


X 


PROLOGUE 


lofty mountains ; of his kind and loving mother and 
thoughtful father both taken from him in his early 
manhood, and they in their early prime; of his 
loneliness with no kin nearer than uncles and 
cousins; of the stories he had heard of the landing 
and meeting of his parents in the present city and 
their journeying to the great Northwest. It all 
increased his sadness and loneliness. Especially did 
the recalling of the incidents connected with the 
meeting of his parents in this great city. He had 
heard the story from the lips of both, and cherished 
it in his memory. Especially did he dwell upon the 
incidents of it now. 

John Langworth’s sire, after whom he was 
named, had left a small croft in the West of Scot- 
land, and few near relatives behind to seek fortune 
in the Western Hemisphere. The voyage had been 
a rather long and tedious one. The few friends 
he had made on the journey had departed quickly 
at landing bound for their respective destinations 
in the East, South and nearby West, he was bound 
for the far West, leaving him without a single ac- 
quaintance when they had taken their departure 
from the rotund building at the most southerly 
point of Manhattan Island where steerage passen- 
gers, the class by which he had come, were once 
wont to be landed, and where many thousands of 
newcomers first set foot on American soil. He 
was advised to remain at the landing place till the 
time of the near departure of the train, which was 
to leave the morning following his landing in the 
afternoon, then be conveyed to the station with the 
many bound in the same direction as himself. 

With varying feelings of emotion, sad and hope- 
ful, he watched the coming and going of the tide 
of humanity, the exodus from many lands, the 
seekers like himself of that betterment that their 


PROLOGUE 


XI 


own land did not offer; watched the afternoon 
merge into evening and the last of the human tide 
depart that was to depart that day, taking with it 
the last of his acquaintances; watched those who, 
like himself, were to remain over night, and there 
was a goodly number from the far northern coun- 
try than his own, bound like himself to the far 
Northwest, but unlike himself in family groups and 
companions, settle themselves into easy and com- 
fortable positions among their hand-baggage and 
prepare their evening repast; watched from the 
distance where he seated himself the repast con- 
sumed, the night draw apace and the few dim gas 
jets of the great rotund building turned into light 
shedding their dim rays among dun figures and 
outlines and the gloom beyond ; watched a stalwart 
figure amid a great group of these children of the 
North produce an oblong instrument, which proved 
to be an accordion, from which strains of waltz 
music emanated awakening into activity those by 
whom he was surrounded, who formed themselves 
into a huge circle of embracing couples and moved 
with measured movements to the harmonious 
strains; watched the great ring of swaying bodies 
gently swaying to and fro as they circled around in 
couples and in one great ring to the rhythmic music 
and measured movements of stalwart limbs till a 
drowsiness stole over him as he watched it all, and 
the figures became dim, shadowy and ghostlike to 
his drowsy faculties moving amid the dim light of 
the surroundings and the dark background beyond. 

This John Langworth was familiar with the 
bothy dances in the country districts of Scotland, 
but the movements and figures were considerably 
different to these. The manner of the bodies sway- 
ing gently in rhythmic time to the music and meas- 
ured movements of limbs was considerable of a 


XU 


PROLOGUE 


curiosity to him, and he viewed it all with great 
interest. Besides, there was much that was pleas- 
ing to him in the sight though he did not dance 
himself. He liked to see the well-developed figures 
of both men and women, the latter with cream and 
rose complexions and generally lightish hair — his 
own was very dark — ^moving with such nicely meas- 
ured precision to the strains of the music. Espe- 
cially was one youthful female figure pleasing to 
his sight, and he watched her movements with in- 
creasing interest. Finally, the dancers tired, the 
music died away and the participants sought im- 
provised couches made of rugs, blankets or any 
other hand-baggage spread on the benches or the 
floor, and were soon apparently as reposeful as if 
in comfortable beds. 

He spread his own blanket on the floor and 
himself upon it, drew his portmanteau under his 
shoulders with a sigh, withdrew a pocket flask from 
his coat pocket, poured into a small vessel that had 
surmounted the flask the liquid diluted spirit con- 
tents of the latter which he drank at a draught, 
then he again sought his coat pocket, producing a 
small Bible which he generally carried with him, 
as his fathers before him had done for generations 
since the troublesome days when men had to fight 
to maintain their religious tenets, and the fighting 
had made them and their descendants stanch in 
the faith. Then he stretched himself out as com- 
fortably as possible and opened the book to a 
turned-down page which was the Twenty-third 
Psalm, and read audibly to himself. This was his 
favorite Psalm. When he had read it wholly 
through he closed the book replacing it in his 
pocket. Then to himself he repeated the most 
beautiful lines of the Psalm, which he loved so 


PROLOGUE xiii 

well, and knew so well without the book. Then 
his lids closed and he slept. 

When he woke in the morning busy preparations 
for departure by an early train were in operation, 
and he soon left the great rotund building behind 
in company with a considerable body of wayfarers 
whose forms had become familiar to him from the 
previous evening. Then the great city was left in 
the rear, and anon villages and cultivated fields 
were passing with great rapidity. But as these 
strange sights of the face of nature passed before 
him with great rapidity he was becoming more 
familiar with the faces about him, and especially 
with one female face and form that had interested 
him the night previously, and less lonely. By the 
time the journey was broken and resumed at Chi- 
cago he was on friendly speaking terms with his 
fellow Norse wayfarers, who generally knew a lit- 
tle of his native tongue, and when the city of St. 
Paul was in the rear he had become very intimate 
with them. Before he had gone much further he 
had decided to cast his lot with them. This he did 
when they got further toward the setting sun where 
the plains merge into the foothills, and it was not 
long till a marriage took place with him and a 
daughter of the Norse race. 

The present John Langworth, tall, straight of 
limb and body, with well-shaped regular features, 
was the offspring of this union, and the only one. 
The parents, though very industrious and careful 
people, did not accumulate a great deal of this 
world’s goods; nor did either of them live to be 
old. 

When one went, the other soon followed, and 
the son was left, before he had reached his majority, 
with some property and a little monetary inherit- 
ance. He owed, however, a great deal to his par- 


XIV 


PROLOGUE 


ents, for he was a fair blending of the natures and 
looks of both with his prepossessing person, sound 
common sense and steadfastness. His parents had 
been desirous of his becoming a medical practi- 
tioner, and with this purpose in view, when he 
reached his majority, he sought the East. 

Much of all this had passed through his mind, of 
his home, of his dead parents, and what had been 
their desires of him as he sat within plain hearing 
of the chorus of voices in song on the stage, the 
sound of laughter and voices of men and women 
nearby and the clink of glasses. 

He had not noticed a pause in the singing till a 
giggle and a familiar name close-by fell upon his 
ears attracting his attention, and he looked up in 
the direction whence they came and he caught sight 
of a laughing female face regarding him. “Joseph’’ 
was the name he had heard. Now as he looked up 
it was repeated by the same lips and so was the 
giggle and by the female laughingly regarding him. 

But she was not the only one so regarding him 
he realized as he looked around, for the other two 
females, and his two companions, who had all 
risen together and were moving past him toward the 
exit, joined in the laughter. 

‘‘We’ll see you later, old man!’' cried Hilkley 
Tweedwell, still laughing with the others. “Take 
care of yourself.” His two companions waved 
each a hand to him as they turned from him. 

John Langworth looked after them but did not 
reply. As they turned from him, he caught the 
gaze of the dark eyes of the female who had pre- 
viously addressed him, who was in the rear. She 
paused and regarded him for an instant with a 
strange, puzzled, quizzical expression of amuse- 
ment. Then she broke into laughter again. 

“Yes, Joseph,” she cried, “we’ll see you later. 


PROLOGUE 


xy 


By-bye, ta, ta, Joseph. By-bye, au revoir as the 
song goes,” she went on, moved to considerable 
merriment, while the others paused regarding her 
and the one addressed with amusement. 

“Au revoir; you know what that means,” she 
explained with a nod of interrogation and a gesture 
of the hand as she backed a few steps from him; 
“you know that means to meet again.” 

She waved her hand at him and broke into a 
long inane giggle, the inanest imaginable, he 
thought, as she turned with her amused companions 
and moved toward the exit laughing. 

The sound of her voice and her giggle rang in 
his ears for a time after she and the others had 
passed out of his sight, and a vision of a pair of 
dark, laughing eyes, a painted face and a head of 
yellow dyed hair was before him. There was some- 
thing about the sound of her voice that reminded 
him of a nanny goat’s wavering cry, and there was 
much that made him think that one of those rumi- 
nating quadrupeds possessed as much brains as 
the departed female. He guessed aright that there 
was no more significance in the name Joseph to 
her as she had used it, than there would have been 
in any other name. Tom, Dick or Harry would 
have been the same to her, he believed. She had 
just heard his companions use it and believed it 
was his name. This was the conclusion at which 
he arrived not only from the tone of laughter, but 
from the glance and general expression of counte- 
nance. 

John Langworth was considerably depressed 
when he was left alone, and he felt a little shocked 
at the turn of affairs despite his efforts to look as 
lightly upon the matter as he could. He had never 
thought his companions models of virtue; in fact, 
he believed few men of their age and circumstances 


XVI 


PROLOGUE 


were. Nevertheless, he could not dispel some 
feeling of repulsion at them. He called for a glass 
of beer and tried to forget the matter and centre 
his thoughts on his immediate surroundings ; but all 
in vain. If his thoughts did not centre on his com- 
panions, they were about the female, and he heard 
her utterance ringing in his ears: “Au revoir, Jo- 
seph; that means to meet again,’' accompanied by 
the familiar inane giggle, and the powdered face 
and dyed hair would confront him. 

think not,” he muttered to himself. There 
was a tone of decision in this, and he turned his 
thoughts to his future with some success. 

The more he thought of his adopted profession 
the more he felt an unfitness for it. There had 
been a growing distaste for it with him for some 
time. This distaste at periods had assumed the form 
of repugnance of a pronounced nature. Occa- 
sionally the feeling had possessed him for a day or 
two after a visit to the dissecting-room. His pres- 
ence there so far had been only as a spectator. He 
had thought that his visits to the place occasionally, 
watching his fellow students would harden him to 
the active part he had soon to assume there himself. 

Now as he sat musing, some of the scenes he had 
witnessed there of uncalled-for and unnecessary 
brutality on the part of his fellow students, and 
especially by Hilkley Tweedwell, filled him with 
disgust. He also now recalled another happening 
connected with the latter fellow student which in- 
tensified this disgust. 

Hilkley Tweedwell in perfecting himself in 
obstetrics during his last year at college had taken 
an extra course in that branch of medical science 
at a nearby lying-in institution. One night recent- 
ly, when in John Langworth’s company, he had re- 
ceived a call from the institution to attend an out- 


PROLOGUE 


XVU 


door case well down in the poor district of the 
lower East Side, and had persuaded the other to 
accompany him there to render any assistance 
necessary. 

John Langworth had accompanied him as re- 
quested, but he had wished afterward he had not 
done so, for the unnecessary grossness of some acts 
that a pretence had been made to pass off as profes- 
sional zeal, which he had been a witness of on a 
poor, suffering human being lying amid want and 
poverty of the direst, in a poor apology for a home, 
had filled him with disgust and pain. 

Now as he recalled this scene his disgust was 
greatly intensified. For the time being the whole 
world seemed brutal, nature and all. This same 
thought had come upon him frequently lately since 
he came East to this great city. It had not seemed 
so before when he was amid nature’s scenes and 
nature’s human beings; but here seemed to domi- 
nate brutality, lust, cruelty and greed. All that 
was above the brute seemed artificiality, and all 
naturalness brutality. As he thought of the great 
city with all its wealth, poverty, suffering and use- 
less squandering of often ill-gotten gains wrung 
from the hard and unhealthy labor of poor suffer- 
ing human beings, and the mercilessness of his fel- 
lows to their fellows, much of the place seemed to 
him a blot on civilization, and he felt he detested it. 
He had no idea there could be so much poverty and 
misery extant until he came East. And it afl 
seemed such an incongruity here in this great land 
where nature is so prodigal in her bestowal of all 
of man’s needs, and much more, that pinch-faced 
armies should go on so desperately battling for a 
crust or a pittance. 

In the older lands and older civilizations where 
nature is le^ generous in her bestowal, and where 


xviii 


PROLOGUE 


pinching poverty and want are as old as time, and 
the problems of meeting these conditions have been 
the problem of the ages, such a state of things ap- 
pears not so much out of place. 

Though he had been but a few months East, 
yet he was familiar with every phase of the great 
city’s Titanic throb, every pulsation of its great 
arteries that moved it to its untiring activity and 
unlagging, feverish life from early morning till late 
into the night. Along the great glittering highways 
by night he had watched the thoughtless, heartless 
show of arrogant pride and wealth strut its mar- 
shalled forces, flaunting its opulence amid the 
glamor and scintillating sparkle of the myriad 
lights of the avenues and tinselled palaces. By 
day he had seen the princely mansions where opu- 
lence and ease bask surrounded and possessed of 
wealth that would dwarf the Midias’ hoard of old, 
and splendor that rivals that of kings. He had 
read accounts of the splendid pageants of wealth 
and fashion where plebeian new-made dollars were 
united to old lineage and family title, and as much 
wealth bartered for a coronet as would keep a 
hundred families from want the rest of their days. 
He had seen the lower city’s fetid, crowded by- 
ways where shambling poverty, degradation and 
crime lurk, and where the thousands perish physi- 
cally and morally. He had heard some of its sleek 
divines in fine temples discoursing lengthily on fine 
and hair-splitting points of theology to smug, well- 
fed looking broods, some of them battening upon 
the hard and unhealthy labor of poverty-stricken 
unfortunates perishing in soul and body. He had 
seen all this and much more that at times had 
moved him to pity, indignation and pain, and he 
had come to question the truth of the creed early 
taught to him, the creed of his fathers. 


PROLOGUE 


XIX 


As he went on musing he felt the West, the great 
wide West calling him back, and he longed to go. 
He told himself how unfit he was for making him- 
self a medical practitioner, and how unfit and un- 
suited for its duties when he had perfected himself 
in its science, if he were ever able to do so. Soon 
his mind was made up. He would leave it and the 
city behind for good in a day or two. He would 
not say anything to his companions of this decision. 
He would not disabuse the mind of Caldwell Winn- 
gath of the belief that they were to meet again in 
the autumn and resume their studies together. He 
did not want to hear any of their persuasion and 
jibes against the course he was taking. He would 
merely drop out of their lives. 

This decision he commenced to carry out im- 
mediately. The day following the departure of 
his companions to their respective homes he left 
the city behind with a feeling that he did not care 
if he never saw the place again. As the great 
cities, one after the other passed before his view, 
and were left behind; and, finally, the small ham- 
lets and the great plains of the West confronted 
him, a feeling of calm and satisfaction possessed 
him to which he had been a stranger for a long 
time. 





A Mother of Unborn 
Generations 


CHAPTER I. 

In a bronzed and bearded figure, with wide- 
brimmed sombrero, a face roughened by years of 
exposure to excessive heat and cold, a well-knit 
frame, erect, showing considerable evidence of phy- 
sical strength and endurance, though scarcely fleshy 
enough to be exactly symmetrical, and the aspect 
of a man between the age of thirty-five and forty, 
that rode from the plains upon the back of a 
sturdy broncho into a small railroad town 
in northern Montana, with the hot midday 
sun beating down upon him, none would have 
recognized John Langworth, the thoughtful, pale- 
faced clear-cut featured medical student of a de- 
cade past. Nevertheless only ten years had passed 
though he looked fifteen years older at the least. 
Lines upon his face that he showed no evidence of 
when he was first introduced to the reader had 
formed and deepened, adding a firmness to his well- 
shaped mouth and a keenness to his. dark gray 
eyes, and a few gray hairs could be descried among 
the brown of his locks. The latter, however, were 
not the result of dissipation or illness, which is 
often the case, but due rather to the hard life which 
I 


) 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

he had led of rough work and exposure, and his 
natural manner of deep thought. 

He had followed in turn the pursuits of cowboy, 
farmer, miner and cattle raiser. But throughout 
it all he had not accumulated any great amount of 
the world’s goods. He had come some consider- 
able distance from the ranch jointly owned by him 
and another, and he showed some evidence of 
travel. There was dust upon him, beaten from the 
prairie grass by the tread of his horse where paths 
and roadways had been absent, but not so much as 
there otherwise might have been owing to the fall 
of recent heavy rains in the neighborhood. He 
was about to make a journey by rail into the neigh- 
boring State of Dakota to settle up some property 
transactions, the sale of some land he owned near 
the town of Ross, which had been partly carried out 
by correspondence; then he intended to journey as 
far as Bismarck to visit some friends and relatives. 
A desire had possessed him for some time for a 
vacation, for he had worked so steadily for a long 
time, and he decided to take one. 

After having his horse taken charge of at a 
hostelry, and partaking of some needed refresh- 
ments himself, he sought the railway station, and 
began his wait for the train. He judged it would 
be a considerable time, and late as usual, and he 
was not mistaken. 

After reaching the small wooden platform he re- 
lieved himself of his hand-bag, which was of rather 
modest proportions, and his coat which he had been 
carrying under his arm, by tossing them carelessly 
upon a near-by bench and began pacing up and 
down the length of the platform, somewhat impa- 
tiently at first, his movements as he did so indi- 
cating the possession of a fair share of manly 
2 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

strength, grace and agility. Indeed, as he moved 
about in the easy attire of woolen shirt, the one 
garment visibly covering the upper part of his 
form, his shoulders broad and his frame erect, his 
face bronzed to the color of his mustache, his eyes 
looking keenly from beneath the broad-brimmed 
hat, he looked the typical man of the plains and 
far from a weakling. 

Then slackening his pace after a time and finally 
coming to a stand opposite an open space between 
two buildings that gave him an unobstructed view 
ahead he stood gazing across the wide prairie 
whence he had come, with its long, rank grass 
broiling under^ the rays of the hot, clear sun, and 
sea of simmering vapor rising therefrom. Though 
his eyes were rivetted in the one direction, to 
where the prairie was lost in the distant haze yet 
the view was subordinated to other scenes his 
mind’s eye resurrected of other places and other 
days. As he stood there much of the happenings 
of the past decade, since he returned from the 
East to take up the life he was now following, 
swept before his mental vision producing varied 
flitting emotions. In these emotions there was 
nothing akin to egotistic pride or self-satisfaction 
at his achievements even though he had made some 
substantial headway and position in the world. On 
the contrary, he was inclined to belittle what he 
had done. It seemed, in weighing his opportuni- 
ties, he could have done much more and ought to 
have done much better. Then he found himself 
arguing that it would all make no difference in the 
end. Though he was seldom prone to take a pes- 
simistic view of life, yet at this instant there 
seemed to be an emptiness in existence and a lit- 
tleness in all one’s endeavors, and he found himself 
3 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

questioning the use of it all and the wisdom of the 
aim and end of things. 

He was in this reflective mood when finally the 
train came along, awakening him from his reverie. 
He was the only passenger waiting for it, and when 
it came to a stand he sprang aboard with his belong- 
ings and had scarcely sunk into the first vacant 
seat when it was moving again. 

John Langworth found his mind occupied for a 
time gazing out the open window at passing objects. 
But he was familiar with most of these sights — 
the broad, rolling prairie, an occasional cattle ranch 
in the distance, a near-by corral, a mountainous 
bluff standing out clear against the far-off horizon, 
and at intervals a dwelling or farm house — and his 
mind soon became reflective of other matters. 

He found occupation for a time eying his fellow 
passengers, of which there was a goodly number 
present in the same coach of a pronounced motley 
stamp, speculating whence one or the other came, 
where they might be going, what might be their 
station in life and what might be their aim, if they 
had any. From this his reflections carried him 
back to his student days in New York, and he 
thought of his fellow medical students, Hilkley 
Tweedwell and Caldwell Winngath, of whom he 
had never heard any more since his parting from 
them a decade past, and he wondered what had 
come of them, if they were both in the land of the 
living and if they had made a success of life and 
their profession. 

He wondered what like a doctor he would have 
made himself if he had remained with the profes- 
sion in place of abandoning it as he had done; 
whether he would have been a failure, or of 
mediocre ability, or a success, and whether he 
4 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

■would have been a married man with a growing 
family now. 

He could not bring his mind to the belief that 
he would ever have made a decided success of the 
profession; he thought he might have attained to 
mediocre ability at the most ; therefore, he believed 
he had been right in abandoning it. 

He still went on musing on one subject and an- 
other as the train rushed on, one thought crowding 
the other in rapid sequence. There was something 
in the speeding motion stimulating to his mental 
faculties. But after a time his thoughts became 
less clear and definite with this crowding, rapid 
transition, and his general grasp of the conditions 
of existence less lucid. There seemed to be a grow- 
ing, undefined unreality about much. Even life it- 
self at times seemed to be unreal and shadowy. 

The journey for the first few hours was as un- 
eventful as most railway journeys. There was 
little to break the monotony save the occasional 
stopping at a cluster of dwellings, generally shack- 
like in appearance, called a town. But though no 
untoward happening or excitement marked its be- 
ginning and early stages it was not destined to 
end so. 

When the banks of the river were reached, run- 
ning closely parallel with the railway, and night 
was approaching, evidence of the recent heavy rains 
was visible in the swollen and strongly running 
current. 

It swirled along, its dark bosom moved into wide 
undulations, then anon in short and violent wave- 
lets dashing against the low banks close to the rail- 
way tracks. 

The day had been excessively hot, the atmosphere 
humid in the extreme. As the night drew apace 
5 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

dark threatening clouds formed and hovered in 
the northeastern sky, unmistakably heralding an 
approaching storm. Then as the darkness over- 
head increased to dense blackness and the landscape 
took on the aspect of early night, the wind, that 
had almost died away, arose suddenly in violence 
stirring the river’s bosom into wavelets, bending 
with giant strength the trees lining the banks, 
rending and cracking the branches, tearing and 
hurling its way through them till they moaned and 
cried in great pain. Then above the sound of the 
wind and the rush of the train came the ominous 
roar of thunder, low and deep, anon loud and 
vibrant, splitting the blackness above in twain in 
zigzag lines of forked fire, its sudden glare at brief 
intervals lighting up for an instant the dark land- 
scape and the blackness of the river’s bosom, fol- 
lowed by a deafening roar of unrestrained violence. 
Then the storm burst in all its wild fury, the wind 
blew in fierce gusts, the raindrops descended in 
great spots, then in one pouring, driving torrent 
drenching the thirsty earth, rushing to the river in 
thousand streamlets ; the thunder roared and 
crashed, the lightning flashed terribly and awe- 
inspiringly. The train rushed on through it all 
but with reduced speed. 

John Langworth sat watching through the 
drenched window, as best he could, the fury of the 
storm with much interest and some awe; watching 
the violence of the wind among the trees, their 
swaying, rending, cracking and breaking; listening 
to the roaring and crashing of the thunder ; watch- 
ing the glaring flashes of lightning lighting up the 
black landscape and the dark river; viewing the 
torrential rain, and wondering where it all came 
from and when it would cease its drenching down- 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

pour. He was deep in the latter occupation when 
a sudden jolting, rending, crashing, not of the storm, 
broke in upon his thoughts, its violence throwing 
him almost from his seat, banishing everything 
from his mind save a hazy realization of these later 
manifestations of violence. He had scarcely time 
to think what these sounds and movements indi- 
cated, when in an instant the coach in which he 
sat with his fellow passengers swayed violently far 
over to one side amid the continued splintering, 
rending sounds of smashing wood and glass, and 
the dark river on which his eyes had been bent 
seemed to rise suddenly toward him and in a mo- 
ment more he felt himself engulfed in the flood, the 
cold water everywhere immersing him. The cool 
water seemed to restore his dazed faculties imme- 
diately, and he realized that an accident had taken 
place and he had got to make an effort for his life. 
For a moment or two the weight of water and some 
other impediments of a firmer nature seemed to 
hold him down ; then he felt himself moving, seem- 
ingly impelled upward along with the force of the 
current and pressed through an appeture of the 
coach. All he heard now was the singing of rush- 
ing water in his ears. In an instant more he had 
reached the surface ; but for a moment or two, with 
the deluging rain and turbulent river tempestuously 
driven by the fury of the gale against his upturned 
face, depriving him of his breath and sight, and the 
blackness above him and about him, he was un- 
aware of his good fortune. However, as his head 
turned from the fury of the elements, a vivid flash 
of lightning revealed to him for a moment the scene 
of violence, and he heard the tumult of the gale, 
the rending of branches and trees, the screeching 
of the wind mingling with the hoarse shouts of men 
7 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

and the shrill screaming of despairing women. He 
saw that he was near a partly submerged coach, 
past which he was being swept, and knowing his 
power as a swimmer, realized he could reach it with 
a few strokes of his strong arms. 

A moment more he was about to strike out in the 
direction of the coach when a terrific roar of thun- 
der followed by a brilliant flash of lightning re- 
vealed a dark object with a white, upturned face 
sweeping past him and he heard from it a pitiful, 
terrified cry of despair. It was so shrill and de- 
spairing that it might have been the voice of a 
woman, and in its apparent utter helplessness and 
terror it appeared as such, and appealed at once to 
him. He did not consider his own danger for a 
moment — that a few strokes of his arms might 
take him into the river’s most violent current and 
possibly beyond his strength to combat, while the 
same number of strokes in the opposite direction 
would most likely land him in safety. 

When the cry rang in his ears again, the appeal 
reaching him almost before the other had died 
away, he made a plunge in the direction whence it 
had come, but the form had disappeared swallowed 
up by the fury of the gale and his hands came in 
contact with nothing but water, and he saw noth- 
ing but turbulent blackness about him; but he bat- 
tled amid it all in the hope of rendering assistance 
to a perishing fellow mortal. The opportunity, 
however, seemed to be passing rapidly, and he be- 
gan to think of his own safety, of how he would 
battle to the shore. His next thought suggested to 
him the wisdom of striking out immediately for 
this haven. 

Though he was a powerful swimmer, and not 
unduly concerned for his own safety, nevertheless 
8 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

he was moved to some anxiety at a full realization 
of what weighty impediments to his efforts were 
his clothes and riding-boots. 

He was just about to put forth some efforts 
shoreward when a vivid glare of extraordinary 
brilliancy, followed by another and another of 
similar illuminative power accompanied almost at 
the same instant by a terrific crash of heaven’s 
ordnance and a quick succession of similar reports 
like the rapid firing of artillery, revealed to him the 
object he had sought. 

He saw now that it was the head of a bearded- 
faced man that appeared on the surface of the 
water a few yards from him, and he struggled 
toward it. Now there was no cry of despair in 
that direction. He could not tell if there was any 
struggle. He saw the white face, however, illumed 
clearly thrice in succession and his strong arms 
cleft the water toward it. But the next flash re- 
vealed only two disappearing arms and hands 
stretched heavenward near him. He knew that in 
•an instant they would disappear and with one 
mighty effort he threw himself toward them and 
caught one hand as it was sinking beneath the tide. 

Thus arrested in its descent the body shot upward 
before him and he was enabled to take a better grip 
of it. He realized then that the struggling of the 
man was likely over. 

Now he thought of the best means of reaching 
the shore, and as he could not see more than a few 
yards from him even with the aid of the flashing 
lightning, which revealed nothing but the turbulent 
water, he did not know in what direction to strike 
out. A little reflection, nevertheless, soon indi- 
cated to him the best course in the circumstances. 

This was to make just enough effort to maintain 

9 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

his buoyancy upon the water and allow the current 
to carry him along to some bend in the river, then 
when he reached that he could use his husbanded 
strength in an effort at landing. 

Thus John Langworth drifted down the river 
amid the swiftly-running tempestuous current, with 
his burden, holding the head of the inanimate form 
as well out the water as he could. The storm 
seemed to be still raging at its height. The wind 
lashed the water in unrestrained fury; the rain 
descended in torrents as if the whole heavens had 
opened up its sluice-gates ; the thunder roared and 
crashed and the lightning flashed as if a host of 
Titans of the sky were waging their gigantic war- 
fare. 

Finally after what seemed to have been a long 
time of drifting, though the actual time had been 
short since the accident and the precipitation into 
the water, a flash of lightning revealed that which 
appeared like the river bank near at hand and he 
strenuously put forth all his strength — strength 
that was now greatly enfeebled and nearly ex- 
hausted — in a supreme effort to reach the goal of 
safety. 

Soon his feet touched some solid substance, and 
he dragged himself and his burden through the 
shallow water and up the slimy, yielding bank. 
Then when some few feet away from the river, 
that was almost level with the banks, he laid the 
inanimate form upon the ground, thoroughly ex- 
hausted from all his efforts, and fell upon the rain- 
soaked earth too helpless to move for the time 
being. 


10 


CHAPTER II. 


John Lang worth lay panting on the water- 
soaked ground, the warm torrential rains beating 
down upon his drenched form. Too exhausted to 
scarcely think or move he was almost oblivious to 
his surroundings for a time and what had hap- 
pened. He was conscious of the elements warring 
about him in their unrestrained, relentless fury, 
that was about all. Dazed thoughts of the com- 
panion he had brought to land entered his mind 
occasionally. He did not know whether the latter 
was living or dead, when at intervals he was 
enabled to think somewhat clearly, he could scarce- 
ly form any conjecture. 

Finally the elements began to abate their wrath. 
The wind tore through the trees with less unbridled 
fury, the rain reduced its torrential downpour, and 
came in exhausted gusts, the thunder roared less 
triumphantly as if worsted in the battle, and faint, 
sickly flashes of lightning told of the latter’s feeble 
efforts. At last all sounds and activity ceased save 
the steady, feeble patter of the rain on the well- 
soaked ground, the steady swash of the onrushing 
river. 

With this change a gradual recollection of all 
the happenings of the last hour — for it was not 
more than an hour since he felt himself losing his 
equilibrium in the train and was engulfed in the 
river — dawned lucidly upon his mind till he fully 
recalled everything with clearness, and now he 
glanced about him surveying his surroundings. 

Night had evidently settled upon the earth though 
11 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the darkness was no more intense than during the 
height of the storm, and one’s range of vision was 
much less obstructed since the decreasing downpour 
of rain. He could discern the dun sky overhead 
with not a break in it now; the dark river at his 
side hurrying and swirling along in one great flood, 
its banks rising but little above the onrushing tide ; 
the great road of transit nearby, its iron rails glis- 
tening faintly through the gloom ; the water-soaked 
trees and grassy ground, the latter with pools of 
water at intervals of a few feet. He was actually 
lying partly in one of these pools himself, he real- 
ized as he looked about. 

He had not the remotest idea how far he was 
below the place where the wreck had taken place. 
It might be two or three miles, or it might be ten 
or fifteen for all he knew or could form an esti- 
mate. 

He looked a little more closely at the form he 
had snatched from the river and probably from 
death, lying near-by him. There were indications 
that it had moved for he recalled laying it on a 
slight mound. Now it seemed to have rolled over 
to lower ground. This indicated that there was 
likely life in it when he brought it to land. Was 
there life now, he wondered. He would soon find 
out, he decided. The latter thought no sooner 
entered his mind than he rose to his feet with some 
pain and difficulty to execute his intent. His limbs 
were stiff and sore, and his head pained him as if 
it had been contused by striking something severely. 
Now as he moved about he believed he must have 
gotten quite a few severe knocks in different parts 
of his body during the accident. 

A few steps brought him to the form of the man 
lying out at full length. It was evidently a man 
12 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

neither young nor old, probably about his own age, 
he saw at the first scrutiny as he knelt closely to it 
and peered into the face his strained gaze pene- 
trating the darkness. He placed his arm under the 
head and shoulders raising that part of the body, 
and placed his free hand upon the man’s heart to 
discover any beating. 

But before he had time to locate that sign of life 
a faintly audible murmur burst from the lips fol- 
lowed by others. They were faint at first then 
much louder, then the import of the utterance 
plainly discernible. 

“What’s the matter?” was the query. “What’s 
the matter?” was the repetition again and again, 
and finally much louder as the man’s eyes opened 
gazing around and into the other’s face. 

“There’s been a smash-up on the road,” John 
Langworth explained in sympathetic tones as the 
other’s eyes searchingly looked into his own; “and 
you’ve been hurt, or — or nearly drowned when the 
train was thrown in the river.” 

A perturbed, puzzled expression was the answer 
to the information, and the eyes of the man 
searched the countenance of the communicator in 
silence for a few moments before he spoke. 

“And you — you, too, have been in the wreck, 
and hurt, too,” was the answer at last. 

“I’ve been in the wreck, but not hurt,” said John 
Langworth with gentle assurance. 

“At least not to any extent,” he added. 

“But you have,” persisted the other. “You must 
have got a pretty severe knock in the head the way 
it looks to be bleeding there at the side.” 

This was news to the one informed and his hand 
sought his head searchingly after disengaging him- 
eelf from the prostrate man. 

13 


*A Mother of Unborn Generations 

The search revealed a considerable gash above 
the temple from which a liquid was trickling slowly 
down the side of the face in a small stream. When 
he drew his hand away it contained a dark stain 
which he judged to be blood, and he was somewhat 
surprised at the revelation. 

“It’s of no consequence, however,” he said, as- 
suringly as he rose to his feet. “Just a small scalp 
wound. I’ll bind it up with my handkerchief. I 
thought it was merely the rain trickling down my 
cheek. 

“You know, I’m a little bit of a doctor,” he went 
on explaining with a smile as he produced his wet 
handkerchief and started to bind it about his head. 
“I studied at a medical college for a year.” 

“So am I,” was the re joiner with a forced laugh. 
“I am a considerable bit of a one. At least I think 
I am for I attended the full course and graduated 
and practiced for a few years.” There was un- 
mistakable evidence of some pride in the tone of 
utterance which failed not in escaping the hearer 
though the words might have been interpreted and 
intended as of modest, deprecating import. The 
information was imparted as the man rested on his 
elbow on the ground and looked up at the other. 

John Langworth bowed respectfully at this in- 
formation of superior knowledge. “I would have 
called for your assistance, doctor, in this matter,” 
he said with earnestness, “if I had known, and you 
had been in a condition to render it.” 

The newly revealed medical practitioner seemed 
encouraged from this utterance. 

“I think I am getting better, and will soon be 
able to move,” was his imparted information with 
assurance in his tone. “In fact, I think I could 

14 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

move now with a little assistance if you could 
render it. Just a little; I feel weak, that is all. 
But — He paused and glanced around, and then 
looked inquiringly at the other as if something had 
suddenly dawned on his mind, then resumed, “but 
how and in what manner did I get here — here 
and landed high upon the banks from the water? 
I have not the faintest idea or recollection. I can 
recall the smash and being thrown in the water; 
then being carried down amid the rushing blackness 
lighted up occasionally by the glare of the light- 
ning, but — ^but that is all.’' 

“I saw you swept past me, and heard your cry,’' 
was the reply with quiet modesty, “and, being a 
good swimmer, I struck out in your wake. But, 
owing to the darkness everywhere, except the flash- 
ing of lightning at intervals lighting up the sur- 
roundings, I had some difliculty in reaching you. 
But I finally caught you as you were disappearing 
beneath the water, and drifted down the stream 
with you till me came near the shore and then we 
landed.” 

For a few moments the prostrate man gazed at 
the other standing by him without breaking the 
silence. Then he spoke in low tones betraying 
deep emotion and gratitude, and said: 

“It is to you, then, my friend, that I owe my 
life — not to chance circumstances of being thrown 
up on the banks by the water, which I thought 
might be possible at first. Well, for all you have 
done for me — and no man could do more for an- 
other, calling for more gratitude, than one risking 
his life for another — you have my deep, heartfelt 
gratitude. It is all I can give you just now. But 
I will not forget in the future — I will not forget. 

15 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

And if there is anything I can do to repay — re- 
member, I will not forget.” He shook his head 
impressively. 

John Langworth raised his hand protestingly, 
then his voice. “It is nothing — nothing — nothing 
more, at least than anyone would do for another, 
were it in his power,” he said with quiet modesty. 
“If it had been in your power to do such an act 
for me, you would have done it I feel sure. And 
as regards reward,” he went on in the same man- 
ner, “there is sufficient reward in the service it- 
self, or in the gratitude it wins. So let the matter 
rest. Say no more about it.” 

The other bent his head toward the ground as 
if moved by feelings of deep emotion and gratitude 
and his eyes became rivetted there meditatively for 
quite a few seconds, the only sound breaking the 
stillness being the swash of the river and the faint 
patter of the rain on the ground. 

Finally he looked up inquiringly at his com- 
panion, who had also been in deep meditative 
thought, and broke the silence. 

“But where and in what direction are we to go ?” 
he asked. “Have you the remotest idea? We 
might be a great distance from any habitation or 
from the location of the wreck.” 

“I don't think we are far from the latter place or 
some habitation — at least I hope not,” was the reply 
in reassuring tones. 

“And if you could walk with my assistance, we’ll 
follow the railway in the direction from which the 
river flows and we’re bound soon to come to the 
wreck or to some dwelling.” 

The one addressed prepared to rise and John 
Langworth bent down and assisted him to his feet. 
i6 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

Then the stronger man gave his arm to his com- 
panion and they moved on with some difficulty 
through the darkness and the rain stumbling occa- 
sionally over the wet, sodden ground. 


17 


CHAPTER III. 


A FEW steps brought the two men to the railway 
track which they sought. Then they followed its 
well-beaten path as being much more preferable to 
otherwise stumbling along amid the twigs, brush 
and over the uneven ground. 

The rain descended lightly and the walking was 
not so bad except for the wet, drenched clothes 
clinging to their tired forms and the difficulty and 
pain they naturally experienced in such circum- 
stances. 

Both exerted themselves, however, as well as 
they could without thoroughly exhausting them- 
selves, which exhausted condition they had all but 
reached. And with the exception of an occasional 
stumble, wherein the more exhausted companion 
clung more closely to the other, they made fairish 
good progress. The ground on both sides of the 
railway was well wooded with brush and trees. It 
was almost level and rose but a few feet from the 
onrushing river that could be descried nearby at 
intervals through the dense and luxuriant foliage. 

Everything, with the exception of the railway 
bespoke the wilderness, and if it had not been for 
some knowledge of their location they might have 
doubted their nearness to civilization. Few words 
were spoken on the way, both being desirous of re- 
serving their almost exhausted strength as much as 
possible. What little was said was generally of an 
encouraging nature of one to the other to bear up 
in the trying circumstances. 

Finally after they had traversed a distance they 
i8 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

judged to be about a mile, a bend in the 
railway showed them the lights of a near-by 
house some little distance from the track, and they 
bent their steps in that direction. When they had 
reached the dwelling and knocked at the door the 
summons speedily brought a female form in re- 
sponse, to whom John Langworth briefly explained 
their condition and experience. 

The woman told them that she knew of the 
wreck, which had taken place at a washout of the 
road a mile or more further up the track, just be- 
yond a hamlet that distance away, whither her 
husband, who was a track-walker, had gone to 
render any assistance he could after hearing of the 
accident. While informing them of this she in- 
vited them within to partake of much-needed re- 
freshments and rest, which invitation they accept- 
ed with much thankfulness. 

John Langworth was anxious, however, to know 
the extent of the disaster; and after partaking 
lightly of the refreshments and seeing his com- 
panion resting, he signified his desire and intention 
of going, and left after promising to return. A 
walk of more than a mile brought him to the ham- 
let, comprising some half score houses including a 
hostelry, where he learned the particulars of the 
wreck that had taken place some little distance be- 
yond, and a few rods further brought him first in 
sight of it then amid the scene of destruction which 
was plainly shown by the numerous lights. 

Here he saw a considerable concourse of people 
gathered about in groups despite the falling rain; 
the stalled cars of a rescue train, which had soon 
arrived; the coaches of the wrecked train; some 
slightly injured, some not damaged at all, some on 
the tracks, some off ; the washed out bank and road- 
19 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

bed, the twisted and broken rails that had caused 
the accident ; the partly sunken locomotive and 
tender, and the end of one of the submerged 
coaches projecting from the river, the one he be- 
lieved he and his companion had occupied. 

When he was noticed by his fellow passengers 
and others of the concourse, and the story told of 
his own and his companion’s escape, manifestations 
of pleasure and satisfaction were evinced by them, 
and stories told of many brave rescues and narrow 
escapes. He learned that the accident had been a 
rather bad one with the injury of a good many and 
the loss of quite a few lives, so it was supposed; 
but the particulars about the latter could not be 
ascertained until a correct enumeration of the tick- 
ets sold and the rescued had been made by the 
railway employes. However, it had not been so 
bad as it might have been owing to the reduced 
speed at which the train was traveling when the 
washout was reached. The locomotive with the 
tender had jumped the bent and undermined track, 
plunging into the river, dragging the baggage-coach, 
the smoker occupied chiefly by Italian laborers, and 
the following coach with it, the rest of the train 
remaining on the track and road-bed, and coming to 
a stand without much damage. 

The loss of life had been confined to the two 
coaches precipitated into the river, and chiefly to 
the smoker occupied by the Italian laborers. The 
injured and rescued had been cared for at the dwell- 
ings of the hamlet and were mostly in a fair con- 
dition for doing well. 

As all had been done that could be done in the 
line of rescue and caring for the injured and res- 
cued, and the hour was getting late, those about 
began to make themselves comfortable in the stalled 

20 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

coaches for the time being, or sought the hamlet 
hostelry for cheer and rest. 

John Langworth sought the latter place and 
secured accommodations for the night, feeling too 
utterly tired to proceed further, and disinclined to 
do so even if conveyance were provided. He 
awoke the next morning much relieved and re- 
freshed from the night’s rest and considerably 
cheered by the prospect of donning a dry suit of 
clothes though he was somewhat stiff and sore. 

After breakfast he sought the public room of the 
establishment and mingled with some of the stalled 
travelers of the wreck who, like himself, had made 
the place their temporary abode. Before he had 
time to make inquiries about the companion of his 
last night’s adventure, who he thought might pos- 
sibly have reached the hotel during the early morn- 
ing, which he was about to do, he saw a figure ap- 
proaching him from the opposite side of the room 
that looked somewhat familiar to him from the 
previous evening as the one whom he was about to 
make inquiries for, and, believing he recognized 
him as such, he turned in greeting. 

In the excitement of the stirring events of the 
previous evening he had not had a very good look 
at his companion, even in the few minutes in the 
indifferent light of the track- walker’s cottage. He 
had noticed, however, to some extent, the heighth, 
figure, features and short, closely-cut beard pointed 
at the chin in the Vandyke style. Now he recog- 
nized these features, but beyond these there seemed 
to be a familiarity in the face, figure and walk that 
was unaccountable to him in the circumstances, and 
he gazed upon the approaching man with intent in- 
terest and puzzled scrutiny. 

The latter when he had approached within a 
21 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

yard or two smiled in recognition, extended his 
hand, and in genial familiarity said: “Good morn- 
ing, Mr. Langworth; good morning, my stanch 
preserver and friend. I sincerely hope that the 
happenings of last night have not incapacitated you 
to any great extent.” The familiar, genial man- 
ner grew in earnestness and deference as he held 
the hand of the one addressed in a long firm clasp, 
gazed into his eyes and proceeded: “You don’t 
look bad, however, so I take it that you are feeling 
tolerably well, and I wish to again extend my 
heartfelt gratitude to you for the great service you 
rendered me. And tell you once more,” he added, 
with emphasis of voice and head after a brief emo- 
tional pause, “that if I can repay it, or partly do so 
in some manner, I will do so. I shall not forget!” 
At the concluding words he shook his head im- 
pressively and pressed the other’s hand in a firm, 
strong clasp before relinquishing it. 

John Langworth shook his head deprecatingly. 
“It was no more than any man would do for an- 
other,” he rejoined in some modest confusion, “if it 
were in his power. And your gratitude repays me 
sufficiently without further recompense; so say no 
more about it/ 

“I learned your name just now, Mr. Langworth, 
from the hotel man,” explained the other after a 
brief pause, eying his companion with a keen, scru- 
tinizing gaze. “And my own name, Mr. Lang- 
worth, if you heard it, I think,” he went on with a 
smile, “would sound familiar to you. You know 
this world is not such a big place after all, if I 
may be pardoned for using a somewhat hackneyed 
phrase. It’s a small, narrow place in some cases.” 

He paused and they both stood eying each other, 
22 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the one countenance moved to smiles and confi- 
dence, the other to puzzled perplexity. 

The perplexed man dropped his eyes from the 
confronting countenance and bent them on the floor 
in deep thought for a few moments. Then in an 
instant, as he recalled the information of his com- 
panion the previous night, that he had graduated 
from a medical college and practiced medicine for 
some years, a light dawned on his puzzled mind 
and he looked upon the countenance smilingly con- 
fronting him and recognized the man though the 
countenance and form had changed much. 

"‘Hilkley Tweedwell!” he gasped as he took the 
hand again extended and held it in bewilderment. 

“The same!” was the hearty rejoinder. “You 
know, Langworth,” he added scrutinizing the one 
addressed, whose bewilderment gradually abated, “I 
thought I recognized you last night. There was 
something about your voice that sounded familiar, 
though your face seems to have changed consider- 
ably.” 

Then they eyed each other in silence for a few 
moments in a long hand-clasp, each searching criti- 
cally for the changes and marks of Time upon the 
other’s countenance that would be of guidance in 
betraying progress or retrogression indicative of 
one’s standing in the world. 

John Langworth in the examination discerned 
something about the other’s general appearance 
and manner — the general expression of counte- 
nance, the voice and the shifty, fishy-looking eye — 
that was not so reassuring and exactly what he was 
inclined to expect from a successful practitioner 
of medicine of years standing, such as the other 
had always claimed he would soon become. 

“The same, my old friend,” repeated Hilkley 
23 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

Tweedwell with a smile. “The same, though some- 
what more worn,” he added somewhat apologeti- 
cally as if divining the other’s thoughts. “But I 
am not looking at my best to-day, as you must 
know,” he went on assuringly. 

“My garments as well as my countenance looks 
considerably seedy. I had to borrow a coat for 
the time being to make myself look somewhat pre- 
sentable.” There was an apparent light flippancy 
about his utterance when not assuming a deport- 
ment of gravity that was scarcely pleasing to the 
listener. 

“And how have you and the world been getting 
along?” he asked in the same manner; “you and 
your world since you dropped out of sight from 
mine and Caldwell Winngath’s ken? But how 
strange it is how you and I have met after all those 
years; and strange, too, you might have gone away 
without my meeting you again, both ignorant of a 
knowledge of who the other was.” 

John Langworth agreed to this ; then he answered 
the other’s query. 

“I have knocked around from Bismarck to Hel- 
ena at the occupations of cowboy, farmer, miner 
and cattle raiser,” was his brief rejoinder,” and I 
find myself older and a little better off ; that is all.” 

Then he added: “How is Caldwell Winngath? 
Do you know?” 

A discernible shade passed over the countenance 
of Hilkley Tweedwell at this query. 

“I think I do,” was his answer in somewhat con- 
strained tones. “I heard about him, if not from 
him, at least, some time past — two or three years 
ago — from a fellow that was at the college and 
graduated a year before him, and before you came. 
He said that he saw him in Chicago, and he was 
24 


Mother of Unborn Generations 

settled with a fine practice, married and doing well 
in a better class section of the city. Some fellows 
have great luck!’' 

The last remark brought about a meditative 
mood, and while he indulged this a silence reigned 
for a few seconds unbroken by either. 

Hilkley Tweedwell was the first to break the 
silence. “But, damn it all, Langworth!’" he ex- 
claimed vehemently with a savage grimace, “Tve 
had as good a practice as anybody, and I could 
have kept it if I had had a fair show, and a fair 
chance. But I never had a chance; there was al- 
ways something happening. No, by thunder! I 
never had a chance,” he went on with vehemence; 
“I never had a show! If I’d had a chance, Lang- 
worth, I’d soon been as I told you I’d be, the head 
of a great medical college in my native state of 
Iowa, or the holder of a great private and influ- 
ential practice there.” He mused for a time in 
silence at this with his eyes bent upon the floor; 
then he turned to his companion suddenly and 
asked with a scrutinizing look: 

“Are you married, Langworth?” 

The one addressed shook his head. 

“That’s where you’ve been wise,” was the quick 
reply. “Once I didn’t think there was much in 
your head, but now I see you could have given me 
points on one matter.” 

John Langworth did not reply to this rather dubi- 
ous flattery, and the other proceeded: 

“That’s where I’d been wise, too,” he said as he 
eyed his companion keenly through half-closed lids, 
“if I’d done the same as you. But I didn’t. I got 
married; that’s what broke me.” He shook his 
head silently at this for a time, crossed his arms 
dejectedly over his breast and proceeded: 

25 


!K Mother of Unborn Generations 

“I was building up a fine practice in Des Moines 
— tony, amongst the tip-top people in the place — 
when I got married. My wife had some money, 
not a great deal; but she acted as if she owned all 
the money in the world, and me, too, body and soul, 
as if I had no rights of my own. Her people were 
a lot of upstart prigs that caused me lots of trouble ; 
some nobodies who thought they were the whole 
thing because they had made some money somehow. 
I hadn’t a dog’s life with her nor a dog’s chance,” 
he went on ; his tone and look bespeaking much bit- 
terness. “I’d been much better off if I’d married 
a woman with no money. She’d have studied my 
desires, likely, looked up to me ; aided me in my am- 
bitions, not thwarted me; bowed to my superior 
judgment. But, damn it all ! she did everything to 
thwart me. She’s been my evil genius for years, 
the one that has continually worked to my undoing, 
and ruination. Why, she’s actually gone to the 
houses of well-to-do people — lady patients of mine 
— and made scenes because she got jealous and mad 
at me at hearing some stories. What do you think 
of that, Langworth?” 

The only reply vouchsafed this was a nod. 

“Women, you know, will see qualities they like 
in a man and nothing will stop them,” he went on 
in a changed complacent manner, as if moved agree- 
ably at this latter recalling. “They’ll take a fancy 
to him, and if they throw themselves at him, what 
is he going to do? You, Langworth, have knocked 
about frontier towns and mining camps, and know 
that men are far from saints, though you were 
once rather prudish yourself.” He looked at his 
companion for a reply but the latter simply 
nodded. “You know men will be men,” he added, 
and received but a complacent non-committal look. 
26 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

“Well, to cut the matter short,” he hurriedly pro- 
ceeded, “people gossiped about matters — made a 
great deal out of little; my wife did the same and 
raised a big rumpus several times, and finally ruined 
my practice in Des Moines. I got out and went to 
Kansas City, taking my wife with me to make a 
fresh start but her meddling in matters, her ex- 
travagance, and a few unlucky cases in my prac- 
tice, broke me up again. After a year, seeing I 
was retrograding, in my disappointment and con- 
tinual bad luck I threw up the game in that town, 
left my wife and started for Helena to begin life 
anew there. But you know, Langworth, they have 
little use for doctors in those mining towns, where 
most of the people are lusty and strong, and I gave 
up the game there just now when I found out that 
I could not make a living, after some patient trying. 

“I am returning East, I don’t know where. The 
fact is I don’t care!” As he shook his head with 
pronounced emphasis at these concluding words, 
and came to a pause with knitted brows and com- 
pressed jaws, there was now no evidence of any of 
his recent agreeably moved manner, which pos- 
sessed him while narrating the moral weaknesses of 
the opposite sex in their dealings with him. All 
about his manner and looks bespoke dejection, 
gloom and despair. Then in his bitterness and de- 
spair he cried aloud as he shook his head and his 
clenched fist: “Yes, that woman started all my ill- 
luck; she’s been my evil genius; my undoing. I 
never had a chance with her ; never a dog’s chance ! 
I’m afraid if I should go back to her, where she is, 
she’ll break me altogether this time.” 

After this utterance he lapsed into dejected si- 
lence again, looking upon the floor with knitted 
brows. 


27 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

John Langworth refrained from commenting on 
the unfolding of his companion. But. though he 
was silent on the matter, his mind was far from 
inactive drawing his own conclusions of the culpa- 
bility of his companion’s failures. He had reached 
that age of wisdom when he knew on what sub- 
jects to be silent and unmeddling, and he realized 
this was one. But he had not reached that stage of 
Pharisaical reticence when one refrains from be- 
stowing encouragement on another, even if there is 
good evidence that it is undeserved, and in an en- 
couraging tone he said: 

wouldn’t let adverse happenings and circum- 
stances crush me; I’d fight the game out manfully, 
properly, to the end. You’re a young man, not 
reached you’re prime yet, and ought to have plenty 
fighting spirit left. Circumstances may victimize 
one for a time, as they often do, but they cannot 
do it all the time. Fight against it, man ! Fight 
against it !” He clapped the other encouragingly on 
the shoulder with his hand as he spoke. 

Hilkley Tweedwell was inclined to be morose and 
obdurate; but after a few moments of silence he 
looked up and said : “It is easy for a man to be op- 
timistic when everything is going well with him; 
and that’s how you’ll find things going with ninety- 
nine out of every hundred optimists. But when a 
fellow is like me,” he shook his head with vehem- 
ence when he paused, “down, down, damned low 
down in his luck, it is hard to be optimistic! 

'Why,” he went on, after a brief pause, “I was 
never in such a damned fix as this before in my 
life. Why, I haven’t a dollar in my possession since 
the accident that cleaned me out; not even a coat 
to my back, for I borrowed this one.” 

"But you have your life and health and strength,” 
28 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

encouraged the other; and he drew forth from his 
pocket a considerable roll of bills. He counted out 
a hundred dollars and handed them to his compan- 
ion as he remarked: “This will help you along for 
the time being, and you may strike luck soon.” 

The recipient took them without protest; was 
loud in his expressions of gratitude, and his in- 
tentions of paying them back when opportunity of- 
fered. 

The two left the place together the following day ; 
the one bound for his native state of Iowa; the 
other into the neighboring state where they parted. 

When John Langworth had completed his busi- 
ness matters, he journeyed further East visiting 
friends till he reached Bismarck. 


39 


CHAPTER IV. 


As John Langworth's vacation was drawing to a 
close and he was turning his thoughts to the life he 
had followed so long, and to which he had intended 
soon to return, a desire came upon him to see 
some of the life he had forsaken in the past, that of 
the great cities, the life of which he had been a 
stranger so many years, and once had no desire 
to renew after his brief experience of it in the 
great metropolis of the East. But now it seemed to 
him that he was missing much of what was going 
on in the world, and he had a desire to see some 
of this if but for a brief period. The desire grew 
stronger as the thought continued to possess him. 
He argued with himself that the change would do 
him good; that he was his own master with no 
binding ties of anyone depending upon him; that 
he had sufficient money for all his needs. Finally 
he consented to indulge his desire. 

When he thought of what place to seek where 
he could see most of the life to which he had been 
a stranger so many years all his thoughts turned 
to Chicago, the great city of the Middle West, of 
which he had gotten a glimpse as he passed through 
it on his westward journey a decade ago. Then as 
some cattlemen, with whom he had formed an ac- 
quaintance, were leaving in a few days for that 
place, he decided to accompany them. 

When John Langworth found himself amid all 
the transient sights of the Middle West metropolis 
it seemed like a new world opened up to him. For 
days he could not see enough of it, and he wan- 

30 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

dered about from one place to another amid the 
great bewildering crowds of humanity, past the 
huge business structures with one companion or 
another, or by himself as if his desire for seeing 
would never be satiated. There seemed to be the 
same unceasing fascination in the bewildering 
countless glittering lights at night and the densely 
packed throngs by day; in the mad rush of street 
cars and numerous vehicles of all descriptions; in 
the hurrying pedestrians, men, women and children, 
hastening in all directions, to business, to work, to 
pleasure; and it would be hard to tell where, but 
always apparently hurrying. He paused occasion- 
ally in wonderment and curiosity to watch it all. 
He had been told and read that here money was the 
great goal, the loadstone that drew them on in one 
mad rush whether to business, to work, or to pleas- 
ure, it was first and foremost in their minds the 
goal for them all, young or old, rich or poor, the 
god that was worshiped before any other god with 
unabating, undying zeal. Now as he watched he 
was inclined to believe this. 

Finally, when he began to get accustomed to it 
all, after a week or two, it began to pall upon him ; 
the novelty wore off and he sought the quietude of 
the public parks to rest and muse. One day as he 
sat alone in one of these places reflecting his 
thoughts reverted to the two companions of his col- 
lege days in New York, and especially to Caldwell 
Winngath, who he was told by the other was a 
successful practitioner in this very city, and he felt 
a desire impelled by curiosity to look him up. Soon 
after this desire possessed him he sought a nearby 
drug store, looked up a City Directory and located 
the name and address he sought. Then inquiring 
in what direction the location was he bent his steps 

31 


I 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

to a street car, boarded the latter and soon found 
himself close to the place of his quest which proved 
to be a quiet, superior residential district of the 
South Side near the Lake. 

A few steps brought him to a modest two-storey 
dwelling, with ample porch in front, sitting back 
from the avenue a few feet, surrounded on three 
sides visible by a plot of garden containing a grassy 
lawn, flower beds and flowers in bloom, where his 
eyes caught the name “Doctor Winngath” on a sign 
below one of the confronting windows. In a few 
seconds he had opened the garden gate, crossed the 
intervening space between it and the house and 
stood on the porch ringing the door bell. Here he 
had a few seconds to take observations before his 
ring was answered, and in doing so he fell into a 
reflective mood : 

“Winngath’s a lucky fellow,” he thought as he 
glanced around, “and he certainly has good taste 
and a liking for genuine comfort.” 

The porch where he stood was well overgrown 
with creeping vines through which he looked at the 
garden beyond, and the flowers in bloom from 
which came a faint sweet odor adding to the 
dreaminess of his mood. By his side stood a rock- 
ing chair with a magazine lying upon it, indicating 
that it had been occupied recently by someone. As 
he continued to gaze at the pleasant surroundings a 
loneliness stole upon him, and he felt more alone 
in the world than he had felt for a long time. And 
with this came a feeling of his own barrenness or 
littleness of achievement, and it seemed his utter 
uselessness in the world, and a sadness grew upon 
him. This mood was terminated abruptly, however, 
and he was brought to himself by the sudden open- 
ing of the door, and by the inquiring look of a fe- 

32 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

male, who was evidently a maid servant, whose 
form confronted him. 

He inquired if the doctor was at home, and, re- 
ceiving an answer in the affirmative, and an invita- 
tion to step inside, he entered and was conducted 
through the hall into the reception room, which was 
the front parlor, and looked out upon the garden 
from two windows in front and one on the side. 
Here he was told to sit down ; that the doctor would 
see him in a minute or two; then the maid with- 
drew. 

For a few minutes John Langworth sat conjur- 
ing up visions of how his once companion would 
look after all these years, if he would recognize his 
visitor at first, and in what manner he would greet 
such an acquaintance of bygone days. Surrounding 
him was much evidence of comfort, culture and af- 
fluence, though everything seemed to be more for 
comfort and convenience than show. The floor was 
covered by a rich carpet, the general furniture was 
heavy and of fine make and material, the bric-a- 
brac and pictures showed good taste. 

Through partly open folding doors dividing the 
apartment from another could be descried in the 
gloom of the shaded windows a huge piano, book- 
cases and other evidence of comfort, culture and 
ease. Through the partly open and partly screened 
windows near which he sat came the fragrant air 
from without and some faint beams of the early af- 
ternoon sun, that was creeping around to the west 
of the house, were penetrating the curtains mildly 
tempering the atmosphere and showing objects 
plainly in the room. 

He was deep in the before-mentioned occupation 
when he heard the rustle of a dress, and looking up 
in the direction whence the sound came, which was 
33 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

through the partly open folding doors separating 
the other apartment, he caught sight of a female 
figure and face within a few feet of him and about 
the center of the room. 

The figure was draped in black, the clothes well 
fitting to the form, which was slightly above the 
medium heighth and well proportioned. The face 
beneath a halo of dark hair, was full, pale and 
thoughtful, the features regular, almost classic in 
contour, the eyes large, dark and liquid with the 
placid countenance seemingly bespeaking a calm 
steadfast nature. She appeared a woman of about 
thirty years of age. Her eyes were bent upon the 
visitor with a look of puzzled scrutiny as he looked 
up and caught their expression. 

John Langworth now, after two or three weeks 
of city life, well groomed and dressed, with clean 
shaven face less bronzed showed little evidence of 
the rough frontier life he had been leading so 
long. 

The lady bowed as she entered the room. 

The visitor rose and bowed with some confusion, 
his eyes for the instant rivetted upon the woman, 
drinking in fully her whole appearance, moved to 
some admiration by the vision of beauty, though 
he was far from what is generally understood as 
a lady’s man. 

“Good morning,” the lady murmured quietly as 
she came to a stand confronting the visitor a few 
feet from him her eyes regarding him with the same 
look of puzzled scrutiny. 

“I believe you desired to see me.” 

The man had let his eyes drop modestly to the 
carpet under the woman’s gaze. Now he raised 
them confusedly to hers, almost too astonished to 
formulate a reply. 


34 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

“I — I desired to see the doctor — Dr. Winngath,” 
he stammered in much confusion. 

The lady bowed again. 'T am Dr. Winngath/* 
she replied in the same quiet tones and calm seren- 
ity of countenance, her dark orbs bent upon him in 
a piercing gaze as if reading him through and 
through. 

This was most surprising information indeed, and 
the visitor showed his astonishment in a prolonged 
puzzled gaze at the imparter of it. 

‘‘But — but it was not a lady I came to see,’’ he 
stammered at last. “It was Dr. — Dr. Caldwell 
Winngath, an old friend of mine I had not seen 
for years — an old college companion. We were 
companions at the same college and the same board- 
ing house. I learned recently from an acquaintance 
I met in the West that he was located somewhere 
in Chicago, and I being on a visit to the city, 
decided to look him up.” 

The lady listened to this information in the same 
placid manner, the same immovable countenance, 
the same intentness of gaze bent upon the visitor 
as if not only laying bare the innermost recesses 
of his mind, but analyzing deep down into the very 
depth of his soul. Even at the conclusion of the 
unfolding she showed no evidence of a desire to 
break in upon the quietude that reigned — strained 
quietude for the man, deep, reflective, analytic for 
the woman. Finally, as they stood gazing at each 
other, the woman’s eyes still bent immovably upon 
the countenace of the man, the latter perplexedly 
meeting the gaze as he moved uneasily upon his 
feet, and the moments sped, one after the other, 
told off by the ticking of a gilt clock on the mantle 
over the open fireplace, the notes sounding clear and 
35 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

distinct to both above all distant sounds, the woman 
spoke without changing her manner or posture. 

“You — you wish to see Dr. Caldwell Winngath,” 
she said in low, hesitating accents. “You will never 
be able to see him, at least not in this life; he has 
gone the road whence no one ever returns.” 

“Dead,” said the man in tones scarcely above a 
whisper, after a brief moment’s silence, hardly 
daring to utter the forbidding word for fear of the 
feelings of his companion, conscoius now of the lat- 
ter’s relationship to the departed, his gaze melting 
in sympathy for the woman. 

The latter inclined her head slightly. 

“Yes, dead,” she said, her voice scarcely audi- 
ble, her lips hardly moving. “He died two years 
ago.” 

John Langworth did not utter any reply. His 
sympathetic steadfast gaze moved from the other’s 
countenance to the window near where he stood 
and he looked out at the bright spring sunshine, the 
green grass and the early varied colored vernal 
flowers confronting him from the beds in the little 
lawn before the house bespeaking so much life 
and beauty, and it seemed difficult to realize that 
death — death in all its forbiddingness — had hovered 
near. 

“I am sorry,” he said in subdued tones as he 
turned from the scene of beauty without and his 
gaze lighted on the woman standing before him. 
“Sorry, also, very sorry, indeed, that I did not 
know, and I should have awakened — recalled — sad 
memories to you, and caused you pain, which I 
would have saved you if I could.’' 

The other inclined her head in reply, and a deep 
thoughtful silence followed during which the gaze 
of both turned to the window and the scene with- 

36 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

out. After a silence of a minute or so the womafl 
turned her gaze within upon the man. 

came from the East as well as my husband,” 
she explained, now showing some animation and 
desire to talk. “We left there shortly after my 
husband graduated. He built up a good practice 
here, and we got along well together. No chil- 
dren, however, came, and having considerable un- 
occupied time on my hands, and thinking to aid my 
husband, to be more of a companion to him, I 
turned my attention to his medical books, studying 
them unceasingly until I acquired a good knowledge 
of medicine and could talk with him on most sub- 
jects concerning it. Finally, as years passed on, I 
decided to take a regular course in a medical col- 
lege, and did so, graduating and becoming a full 
licensed practitioner. But I did not practice to any 
extent till after his death. That is how I happened 
to choose this calling and how you find I am follow- 
ing it now.” 

The visitor then gave a brief outline of his life 
since he left the East and abandoned the study of 
the profession he had taken up. The woman lis- 
tened to this attentively. Then, as a rather lengthy 
thoughtful quiet reigned unbroken by either he sig- 
nified his intention of going, and prepared to take 
his leave. 

The lady showed him to the door, opened the 
door graciously for him, extended her hand at part- 
ing with a quiet good-bye and a long, steadfast 
look, but did not ask him to call again. 


37 


CHAPTER V. 


Visions of the placid countenance and the dark, 
thoughtful eyes haunted John Langworth as he 
bent his steps toward the centre of the city after 
the late interview, for he walked, preferring so 
doing to riding, in the mood in which he found 
himself. He was deeply reflective of the woman he 
had just met who had been the wife of the once 
companion of his student days. She was so en- 
tirely different to that which he would have looked 
for and expected in a woman who had chosen the 
practice of medicine for a profession. He had an 
idea that all, or most of such, were either masculine, 
austere, old or forbidding in some manner. He 
wondered how deeply she had loved her late hus- 
band, for it seemed impossible that a woman of her 
physical beauty, apparent depth of character, vir- 
tue and mental attainments could marry a man 
without a deep and sincere passion, and how deeply 
she cherished his memory now. That she pos- 
sessed all these attainments and virtues he hardly 
doubted from what he had seen of her, for he had 
generally found himself a true judge of character, 
and when he recalled the standard of such attain- 
ments in the late Caldwell Winngath, who though 
possessing some good qualities and was generally 
considered a good fellow and boon companion, nev- 
ertheless had much in his makeup of the grosser 
kind, he was considerably puzzled. He had not 
seen enough of the civilization of the eastern sec- 
tion of the country to know that it is not uncommon 
for mental superiority and physical beauty to be 

38 


A Mother ot Unborn Generations 

united to vulgarity and grossness for the sake of 
a home or the bountiful bestowal of worldly goods. 

He could recall the home in every minute detail, 
as he walked along, bespeaking refinement and good 
taste; the garden with flower beds surrounding the 
house and the stretch of verdant grass; the front 
parlor from the windows of which he had gazed 
upon the vernal bloom without, and the few choice 
paintings and pictures upon the walls of that apart- 
ment; the vases with cut flowers upon the mantel 
at each side, the gilt clock, the heavy circular table 
upon which rested volumes and magazines of the 
better class, and other furniture bespeaking comfort 
and ease; the adjoining inner parlor with its vista 
of bookcases and piano, through the open connecting 
doors of which he had caught the first glimpse of 
the mistress of the house as she entered his pres- 
ence. Of all these surroundings he thought, but 
his reflections were chiefly of the being who was 
amid them; they were but a background to her 
presence. 

She remained' uppermost in his mind despite all 
his efforts to banish her therefrom. This he tried 
to do when evening arrived and he had reached the 
hotel at which he was residing. He believed he 
had given her enough of thought and it was time 
to think of something else. But all his efforts to 
do so were unavailing for she still continued per- 
sistently to occupy his mind. It all seemed very 
strange to him, as he had never before given so 
much thought to any one woman. There had been 
rare occasions, however, when he had been at- 
tracted to the manner and appearance of members 
of the opposite sex, but in these cases the object 
of attraction had soon been banished voluntarily 
from his mind. 


39 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

He reasoned with himself that this would be the 
result in this instance the following day. But when 
that day arrived, and even the next to that, his 
thoughts were only a little less occupied with the 
object of attraction. He then began to reason why 
it should be so. He hardly thought he was in love 
with her. He merely believed it was a deeply- 
rooted feeling of interest and friendship that had 
been awakened in him for this evidently intellectual 
woman he had met in such strange circumstances. 

Besides, he told himself that he knew it could be 
nothing more, for he had all along wondered how 
men could marry widows or divorced women who 
seemed much alike to him, inasmuch that they had 
been the property of other men, and it had always 
seemed to his view like wearing other men's cast- 
off garments and the clothes of the dead to marry 
them, and repugnant to his taste. 

Thus he mused and reasoned as one day gave 
way to another, and the time he had elected for 
his departure for the West drew near. Then as 
the days continued to pass he felt a growing over- 
mastering desire to see the woman again. But how 
to achieve this desire was a matter that puzzled 
him very much. She had not asked him to call and 
he believed it looked somewhat presumptuous to 
do so in the circumstances. Nevertheless, as he 
reflected on the matter of her not inviting him to 
call he liked her the better for her not doing so. 
He told himself that he was a mere stranger to her 
and if she had asked him to call there was no rea- 
son why she should not do the same to other men 
whom she met casually. He racked his brain in an 
effort at devising some plausible excuse for his 
calling on her without his action seeming forward 
or open to offence. One idea after another entered 
40 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

his head only to be abandoned after some reflection, 
and in the man’s modest self-consciousness his ef- 
forts were in vain. Then finally he thought the best 
plan of all and the most manly would be to call 
boldly on her with the simple statement that he felt 
desirous of seeing her again and thought he would 
call. 

The more he thought of this plan the more it ap- 
pealed to him and he decided to put it into execu- 
tion the following afternoon. That afternoon, 
when it arrived found him there at the dwelling, 
as he had planned, ringing the door-bell and specu- 
lating with some misgiving as he did so on the 
nature of his coming reception. 

It was nearly two weeks since his previous visit 
and he wondered if he had dropped entirely out of 
the woman’s mind in that time, and if she would 
be surprised, pleased or annoyed at this renewal of 
acquaintanceship. His mental speculation was soon 
ended, however, by the opening of the door, and in 
a little surprise and confusion he found himself 
confronted by the lady herself. As he removed his 
hat with a bow she bowed also, and extended her 
hand graciously. 

‘‘How do you do, Mr. Langworth?” she asked 
in quiet pleasing tones that were entirely reassur- 
ing to him. He replied fittingly. Then she stood 
aside and held the door invitingly for him to enter, 
closed it after him and led the way into the front 
reception room where she invited him to be seated 
and seated herself. 

“In calling,” said the visitor apologetically, with 
some nervousness and embarrassment as he seated 
himself and fumbled his hat in his hand, “as I felt 
I would like to do, to meet you again before I left 

41 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

for the West, I was in some doubts as to whether 
I might not be trespassing on your valuable time, 
knowing that doctors’ time is not only generally 
valuable but often in great demand.” 

The lady nodded gravely to this explanation. 
Then as she was about to reply a faint little smile 
illumed her countenance for an instant as she keen- 
ly regarded the visitor. 

“Some doctors,” she rejoined quietly with a nod. 
“Yes,” she went on with the same little smile light- 
ing up her eyes and features, and this time there 
seemed to be a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, 
“some doctors’ time is valuable, and in great de- 
mand, but not all.” 

It was the first time he had seen her smile, and 
it was so genuine and spontaneous as to be infec- 
tious and he found himself irresistibly joining in it. 

Then after a brief pause she proceeded in her 
previous grave manner and said : “However, I have 
as much practice myself as I desire. I prefer some 
time to myself. This I generally get; so I can spare 
some occasionally for a little social and friendly in- 
tercourse and matters of my household. You know 
that practitioners of my sex are not generally so 
much in demand as the other sex, and their time is 
not generally so valuable.” 

The visitor nodded agreeingly with a look of 
meaning import. 

“Yes, they are probably not so much in demand 
generally as some of the men practitioners,” was his 
reflective reply. “But there are a great many ex- 
ceptions,” he went on with emphasis and a smile, 
“wherein this rule does not apply, I should judge, 
from observations. Why, I have known some of 
these latter practitioners, who, if they had nothing 
to depend upon for their next week’s food or their 

42 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

next month’s living but their fees from their cases 
who’d have gone very hungry not only the next 
week, but the next month and the next year, and 
their digestion and assimilation would have been 
in a generally deplorable condition; in fact, in as 
bad a condition as the digestion and assimilation of 
some of their patients after taking their prescribed 
concoctions for a time.” 

The lady smiled at this, moved to genuine humor. 
“Yes, it is sad to think of,’' she said with a shake of 
the head, “to think of both such cases — the doctor 
and the patient.” 

All the reserve and restraint of the previous visit 
seemed now to have disappeared, giving place to 
genuine frankness. 

Then they talked of the weather, which was 
bright and genial. The visitor in praising it laid 
his hat aside, rose and looked out the window at 
the bright sunshine, where his admiration turned to 
the vista of green grass and varied-colored spring 
flowers confronting him, and he spoke of their 
beauty and the hostess joined him and followed 
his gaze and also spoke of the beauty of the flow- 
ers. 

Then they seated themselves again and she asked 
him many questions about his life on the frontier 
and the plains, and why he had abandoned the study 
of medicine for that life. He could frankly answer 
all questions about the former, but in answering 
the latter he used more reserve. He possessed a 
fund not only of good entertaining talk and anec- 
dotes, but of good judgment, and did not make his 
stay too long, and this time when he said good-bye 
at departure he received an invitation from the 
hostess to call again. 


43 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

As he wended his way to his abode he told him- 
self that he most assuredly would call again, and 
before long, for the visit had been very pleasant 
and entertaining indeed to him. 


44 


CHAPTER VI. 


John Langworth allowed a week at least to 
pass before he thought it wise to pay another visit 
to the home and presence he had found so enter- 
taining. During that week a considerable change 
had come over him. He had actually been consid- 
ering seriously whether or not he would return to 
the West. An idea had entered his mind of return- 
ing to the study of the profession he had abandoned 
so abruptly a decade past. No longer it seemed to 
him the brutalizing occupation it had once seemed. 
He must have been mistaken in his conception of its 
influence, he argued with himself, for no greater 
refutation of such an idea could he find than in the 
refined, cultured gentle being whom he had come 
to know recently who followed that occupation. 
However, he had not decided on what course he 
would follow ; he felt that a few days would decide 
him. 

When he called the next time he was conducted 
within to the now familiar reception room by the 
maid, who told him that her mistress would see 
him in a few minutes. 

When the hostess entered the visitor thought that 
he had not seen her on either previous visit looking 
so charming as now. She wore a small bunch of 
pink carnations in her breast, there was a sparkle 
in her eye and a color in her cheek that had hither- 
to been absent, and he believed she was pleased 
with him for coming. 

She greeted him with a gracious bow, pleasant 

45 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

smile and gentle hand clasp as he rose at her en- 
trance. 

“I am pleased to see you, Mr. Langworth,'" she 
said, with unaffected simplicity. “This beautiful 
spring weather we have been having still lasts I 
am glad. Nature is indeed very kind.'' 

The visitor expressed his gratitude at her re- 
marks concerning himself, and also his gladness at 
the continuation of the fine weather. 

Then they seated themselves and talked on mat- 
ters in general but of no consequence to themselves. 
After they had exhausted these topics and a silence 
had reigned for a few moments she turned to him 
and with more interest said: 

“Mr. Langworth, I am going to an entertain- 
ment to-night — an entertainment among a few 
friends. It is given by the Author's Club, an auxili- 
ary organization of the church I attend, and this is 
the meeting night. It is a literary club and we meet 
once a week at members' residences to study the 
authors’ and poets’ works; to debate on them, to 
read and recite from them. To-night it is Brown- 
ing, next week it will be Shakespeare, and last 
week it was Mr. Wordloft the author." 

She unfolded this information with a rapidity 
and an easy flow of words which along with the in- 
formation imparted was truly amazing to the visi- 
tor and he could not conceal the surprise he felt. 
Even after she had concluded he gazed at her in 
some bewilderment. 

“And are you really — really a member of a club 
of authors — writers — and study Browning and 
Wordloft?" he gasped feeling somewhat small. 

The woman gazed at him in silence for a mo- 
ment or two, then her eyes began to smile and her 
lips, and she burst into an irrepressible smile and 

46 


!A! Mother of Unborn Generations 

low, musical ripple of laughter. At the first sound 
of her voice in laughter upon his ears its music 
dispelled immediately the bewildered awe in which 
he was regarding her and her supposed superiority 
in learning. 

'‘Authors, writers!” she repeated, still moved to 
irrepressible smiles. “Why, no! No, I do not 
know of one of us that is an author or a writer in 
the sense you mean. I never wrote a line myself 
in that manner. I know of none of us unless it is 
Mr. Windthrope, the president of the club, who is 
assistant editor of the ‘Sentinel and Star.’ I hard- 
ly think, however, that he could be called an author 
though he writes some articles, I know, for the 
Sunday edition. His writings are chiefly upon so- 
ciety matters and doings, of which he seems to be 
considerable of an authority, especially South-side 
society, and can be seen on the page of the Sunday 
paper devoted to such matters under the heading, 
‘Society Notes.’ 

“Rexton is his nom de plume, and he is rather 
proud of it as well as of his literary productions, 
though they are rather meager as his time is taken 
up at his employment chiefly in assisting in the man- 
agement of the paper. However, he not only thinks 
himself a writer of some power and importance, 
but a power in society as well, of which latter he 
aspires to be. Some say his aspirations in this line 
are autocratic and dictatorial. He already claims 
to be an authority on the matter of society standing, 
and the importance of who is who. If you get the 
Sunday ‘Sentinel and Star,’ you may see his lit- 
erary productions. But you may have a chance to 
judge his flowery style at the coming club meeting, 
as he occasionally reads his effusions there, if they 
concern the doings of the organization, which is the 
47 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

case once in a while. His style is very flowery and 
elaborate, and he doubtless thinks himself an im- 
portant literary personage and capable of a great 
deal in that line.” 

This criticism of another with its mild trace of 
cynicism that was scarcely discernible, without the 
least particle of acridity, seemed so very human and 
natural and it banished any vestige of awe and re- 
serve remaining in the visitor that the laughter had 
failed in doing. 

“And are there many of these extremely supe- 
rior persons members of the Authors’ Club?” he 
asked placidly with a little trace of cynicism. 

“I should think there would be,” he went on in 
the same manner, “if they can devote their time to 
Wordloft. I picked up a novel of his a year or two 
ago, and began to read it. I had never before read 
any of his works, never discussed him, and had not 
the remotest idea of his style to form any precon- 
ceived notion about him, though his name as an 
author as well as the title of this particular book 
was not unfamiliar to me. 

“Well, I read two or three chapters at the first 
sitting and rose at the conclusion with a rather 
dazed notion of what I had been reading and a con- 
siderable headache. I really did not appreciate the 
story. I was inclined, however, to attribute this 
lack of appreciation to not feeling well; and I did 
not feel well, I can assure you, at the conclusion of 
the reading. I tried it the following day when I 
was in a very pleasant mood, but the pleasant mood 
did not last long when I perused that book. I 
got so exasperated before I had proceeded far that 
I rose in wrath and flung it with much force at the 
wall of the room facing me. And, really,” he added 
with much assurance in his look and voice, “I am 

48 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

usually a very even-tempered mortal. Well/’ he 
resumed in his previous manner, "‘somebody picked 
up the book and put it on the stand in my room 
and a few days afterward when I caught sight of it 
I felt some remorse for my previous action and be- 
gan to think I had been unfair. A desire to give it 
what I considered a fair trial possessed me and I 
settled myself comfortably to the task. I could 
not dispel somehow the notion that it was a task 
I was undertaking, though I tried to disabuse my 
mind of that idea and make myself think that the 
lack of former appreciation lay with me. Well, I 
made a lengthy struggle this time, but a struggle 
that was unavailing. It finished with my wrath in- 
flamed to such an extent that I rose and with much 
force flung the book out the open second-storey 
window of my room, and that was the beginning 
and the end of Wordloft with me. I could never 
again induce myself to look at any of his works. I 
cannot see that the running the risk of paralysis of 
the brain would be repaid by what I could possibly 
learn by reading any of his novels/’ His manner 
bespoke a semi-seriousness at this. 

The hostess who had been an amused and atten- 
tive listener, occasionally breaking into smiles at 
the narration, now burst into laughter at its con- 
clusion. 

“It’s as well,” she said, after she had eyed him in 
amused silence for a few moments, “that we dis- 
cussed Wordloft last week, and are through with 
him for a time, as I am going to invite you to at- 
tend our meeting next week and meet the club 
which meets right here when the subject will be 
the immortal bard Shakespeare.” 

The visitor was profuse in his thanks for the 
honor the invitation conferred upon him and the 
49 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

pleasure his attendance would afford him; but in 
his mind he was not so sure of the latter. He felt 
that it would be infinitely more pleasurable to meet 
the one member of the club that he knew than the 
whole body. 

The woman seemed to read his thoughts as she 
eyed him closely with a calm, reflective gaze. 

“Why, Mr. Langworth,” she said assuringly, “we 
are not a formidable body of people at all. You 
will find that out when you meet us ; we’re far from 
that, indeed. We are only ordinary mortals — mor- 
tals with ordinary mortals’ common failings — and it 
is one of the commonest human failings to assume 
a superiority we do not possess. It inflates us to 
make believe we understand that which is not un- 
derstandable by the common mind, raises us so 
much in our estimation above the common herd 
that in our own little minds and stupendous vanity 
we begin to really think and believe that we are 
really so much their superior.” From his counte- 
nance her deeply reflective gaze wandered afar. 

“I do not know whether the wise man of the 
Bible was right or not,” she went on reflectively 
after a pause, “when he said that all men are liars. 
But I think he would have been right if he had said 
that all mankind were hypocrites, more or less so. 
At least I think the preponderant majority are,” 
she added with a look at her companion. It was 
evident that she added the latter explanation to her 
statement out of regard for his feelings. “So don’t 
take us too seriously, Mr. Langworth,” she went on 
in her previous reflective mood, “or the world, for 
that matter. Take our little failings and vanities 
as a matter of course, and do not look for perfec- 
tion from those you meet, for if you do you 
might as well go and shut yourself up alone from 

50 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

your fellows. I tell you all this,” she proceeded 
with a close, scrutinizing look at her companion, 
'‘because you may meet, at this coming , gathering, 
those whose little and big failings are so apparent. 
They seemed so apparent to me at first that I seri- 
ously wondered whether it was worth the while 
bothering about such people at all — seeking their 
society. But as we are all more or less gregariously 
inclined, and the company of our fellows is a neces- 
sity to some extent, I reconsidered the idea of leav- 
ing them entirely alone. So if you see our little 
make-believes and hypocrisies, or our big make- 
believes and hypocrisies, for even much of our relig- 
ion is a sham, try and look upon these as small hy- 
pocrisies and failings. Remember we are all more 
or less make-believes and shams and very human 
and far from perfection.” 

This was all delivered with deep earnestness and 
sincerity and the look like the tone of voice, placid 
and mild. John Langworth laughed. He had fol- 
lowed her closely with deep earnestness. 

'T had an idea that those who could discover the 
intricacies of Wordloft and Browning were just 
a little more than human,” he said with some ban- 
ter. 

The hostess shook her head musingly. 

'Tf you only knew all our little failings, petty 
mean failings, supposed Christians and all as we 
are, you would soon be undeceived in your estimate 
of us, and realize how human we all are.” There 
was a touch of sadness in the tone of voice for an 
instant, and a look of ineffable suffering, almost an- 
guish, in the far-off gaze that did not escape him, 
and his whole being was moved in sympathy for 
the woman, drawn to her irresistibly in one spon- 
taneous impulse. 


51 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

All his mood for banter had now vanished, leav- 
ing him gazing on her with a constrained steadfast 
look of sympathetic tenderness. In that look he 
seemed to fathom much that her words hid from 
him. He realized that her upward struggle socially 
had been far from free of pain, wounds and suffer- 
ing. 

“The spirit of Christ,’’ he said quietly, “is not 
always dominant and manifest in those who gather 
in his name.” 

There was scorn in the woman’s face at this and 
scorn in her voice when she spoke. 

“The spirit of Christ,” she said with some ve- 
hemence, “why, it is plain you have not mixed 
much among them; at least those belonging to a 
fashionable or half-fashionable church in a large 
city. Why, if it was manifest but a little, without 
being dominant, it would be all right. But it is al- 
most an unknown quality. It is banished as they 
would banish Him if He came among them. Some 
people are prone to say that He would be crucified 
again if He came amid those in the church 
preaching His doctrine. The crucifying, however, 
would be in a more refined, subtle manner than 
heretofore; for He would find Himself among 
adepts at that latter method. Yes, adepts !” she con- 
cluded with an energetic shake of the head, and a 
look that was almost defiant. 

She eyed him in silence for a moment or two and 
in that brief time the cloud passed from her coun- 
tenance and it was all sunshine, as the shadow of a 
cloud will pass from the face of nature leaving it 
shining and radiant. 

“I had no idea of entering into so lengthy and 
disagreeable theme,” she said with a smile. “I 
must really be somewhat under the weather — the 

52 


A’ Mother of Unborn Generations 

weather that seems as if it is a little threatening 
and presaging a change.” 

She then spoke of more cheerful matters — the 
club and the very pleasant people connected with it 
and the entertainment of the next week to be held 
at her abode — and she seemed all sunshine. 

The visitor then signified his intention of taking 
his departure. She did not press him to stay any 
longer, but stated that she would go immediately 
and make preparations for her own departure as 
she had several matters to attend to and the place 
of the meeting was some considerable distance 
away. He liked her better for this frankness, and 
when she extended her hand to him at the door, 
he held it in a rather long clasp before relinquishing 
it, which clasp she made no effort to disengage. 


I 


53 


CHAPTER VII. 


As half-past eight was the hour of the meeting 
of the Authors’ Club, the time when it was custom- 
ary to begin the programme of the evening, John 
Langworth let the time be within a few minutes of 
that before he called. He thought the plan of 
making his appearance there when all the members 
or nearly all of them were present the best, for it 
saved the trouble of individual introductions. 
Though not a shy man, nevertheless he entertained 
some dread of meeting all those people of assumed 
literary qualities, and, as he was inclined to believe, 
superiority in aspiration and deportment. 

When the maid answered his ring and admitted 
him, the hostess met him in the hall with her cus- 
tomary gracious bow, smile and handclasp. Then 
she led him in the front reception room in view of 
the assembled gathering which comprised about 
thirty people of both sexes, ranging in ages from 
twenty to thirty-five at the most, the sexes about 
evenly divided. 

The folding doors, separating the front and inner 
parlor, had been thrown wide open revealing all 
present as if in one apartment. 

To John Langworth, accustomed to the western 
life of the frontier and the plains, it was a brilliant 
sight and gathering his eyes rested upon. The lu- 
minous lights of the two huge chandeliers shed a 
lustre over all, animate and inanimate — the pictures, 
bric-a-brac, the onyx and marble topped tables, the 
vases of cut flowers, some of them great bunches of 
American Beauty roses, the huge piano with its 
54 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

glistening white keys and other pieces of furniture, 
and the animated beings sitting and standing about 
in groups, some of the fair sex showing consider- 
able beauty of person. 

The hostess introduced him with the explanation 
that he was an old friend of her late husband from 
the West. At the words of introduction all eyes 
were turned upon the stranger and the hostess and 
much speculation was awakened in their minds 
concerning him — his worldly position and social 
standing — about the first thoughts the most of them 
were likely to entertain concerning anyone. He 
bowed to the right and to the left of him, his eyes 
glancing over the assemblage as he did, and received 
in return a bow from all, some who were sitting 
slightly rising and inclining their heads in acknowl- 
edgement. 

The meeting was about to come to order with the 
reading of the minutes of the previous meeting by 
the secretary, and all seated themselves for the for- 
mality. 

John Langworth was honored with a seat near 
the hostess, much to his satisfaction, for he felt 
considerably more at ease thereby. Besides, it was 
very pleasing for him to know that he had been so 
honored by the handsome hostess, for despite the 
fact that most of the women were younger there 
was none surpassed her in beauty. Indeed, it was 
doubtful if any equalled her in that respect. 

The secretary, a sharp-featured keen-eyed dap- 
per young man of about twenty-eight, produced a 
volume and began to read aloud therefrom. He 
went fully into the details of what had taken place 
at the previous gathering — the date of the meeting, 
the number of members present, the names of those 
who took part in the debates, readings and recita' 
55 


!A. Mother of Unborn Generations 

tions, the financial condition, with a list of dues col- 
lected and expenditures since made for volumes, 
etc. Then in conclusion he said: 

“I forwarded the report to our honored presi- 
dent” — he directed a glance at the one named — 
“so that he could prepare in suitable literary form 
any part that is to be published. If he has done so 
will he submit the article to the club for the mem- 
bers to pass judgment and approval upon before its 
publication ? 

At the name “honored president” the one re- 
ferred to rose to his feet, threw out his chest, rested 
the back of his hand in the hollow of his back, 
scanned those in the room with a quick, sweeping 
glance of self-assurance, gazed up at the ceiling 
for an instant and rested his eyes upon the carpet 
with a look of resigned patience till the speaker 
concluded. 

He was thirty years old, straight, slim with light 
brown hair and lighter mustache, and would be 
called tall because he was slightly above the me- 
dium height. He had been an active worker in the 
church for a number of years, filling the position of 
librarian of the Sunday School, church usher and 
often leader of the young people’s meetings. 

When he had come to the church poor and ob- 
scure he had started in to ingratiate himself into 
the good esteem of the important personages of the 
church. Two of these in whom he found much 
favor were the pastor, and one of Chicago’s promi- 
nent business plutocrats who held much stock in 
the “Sentinel and Star.” 

When he found favor with this latter personage, 
his rise to comfort and affluence was rapid and sure 
for a minor position was found for him on the 
newspaper of which his wealthy fellow church 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

member was the controlling stock holder, and then 
he was soon promoted to managing editor. 

The secretary of the Authors’ Club had been just 
as zealous in his church work, and just as assiduous 
in his efforts to win his way into the good graces 
of the influential of the church, but these latter ef- 
forts had proved a dismal failure and he occupied 
the same humble position behind the counter of a 
department store as he had done for years. What 
was the cause of this partiality would have been 
difficult to tell for one young man was just as gift- 
ed as the other with a flow of words, self-assur- 
ance and assiduity in all he did in conection with 
the church and otherwise. It was just an instance 
of that strange working of lives that we see evi- 
dence of quite often if we but look around. One 
will start out in the race with another with equal 
ability and equal efforts and one of the two seems 
to harvest all the rewards. 

When the secretary concluded the president 
coughed lightly several times, and with a glance 
about him began: 

‘T have prepared the article for publication as 
our honored secretary asks,” he said in quiet tones 
of confidence as he withdrew the paper from his 
pocket. 

“It is entitled, 'A Night with Browning at the 
South-Side Authors’ Club.’ ” Then he bent his gaze 
upon the paper and proceeded, his voice rising and 
falling in widely varied fluctuating intonations and 
emphasis as he progressed, his head and hand mov- 
ing with accompanying gestures of precision and 
force, his eyes, at intervals, rising from the manu- 
script in sweeping glances that bespoke much as- 
surance. 

“The Authors’ Club enjoyed a delightful night 

57 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

with its favorite poet, Browning, last Tuesday,” 
was his unfolding. “There was never a dull min- 
ute during the entire evening devoted to rendition 
of the matchless verse, debate and colloquy upon 
the same, and as the light of his sublime imagery 
shed its effulgence upon the conceptible intellects 
of those present diffusing its radiance as the mild 
vernal sun, aided by the gentle zephyrs of the 
South, diffuse, permeate and illume the morning 
haze, spreading its lustre and splendor thereon, all 
were moved to ecstactic raptures of Elysian bliss. 

“As imagery after imagery, metaphor after meta- 
phor and figure after figure unfolded their subtle 
depth and intricate beauty to the assemblage the 
adulation and praise to the imperishable genius of 
this wonderful being was unstinted, vociferous and 
continuous. 

“It is the wish and desire of the Authors’ Club,” 
he went on, with a sweeping glance at those present, 
after a momentary pause, “that no doubt should 
exist in the public mind concerning their stand on 
the sometimes mooted question of whether the 
genius of the poet was of the highest and sublimest 
order. The club is one, the same and immovable on 
this. It would set him at the highest pinnacle of 
celestial altitudes among those few luminous stars 
that grace that coveted sphere and diffuse their ef- 
fulgence upon this world, enriching it by their pres- 
ence, ennobling our beautiful tongue and expanding 
our intellects. The Authors’ Club makes this wide 
emphatic statement not only to the public of Chi- 
cago and the public of this broad and ample land, 
but to the public of the world and challenges con- 
tradiction. 

“The club also wishes to state that it advocates a 
wider study of him with the object of a broader in- 

58 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

tellectual national refining development of the mind. 
With the latter object in view, it would advocate in 
conclusion that the works of Browning be read and 
studied in all literary social gatherings/’ 

The president stopped and gazed around expec- 
tantly with a look of confidence for the applause 
and the usual proposition for a vote of approval. 
He had scarcely done this, and the hand-clapping 
was just beginning to break forth, when the secre- 
tary sprang to his feet in an instant before the 
hands of many had signified any approval in ap- 
plause, his action bringing the assemblage to an in- 
stantaneous hush. 

All noting the eager tenseness stamped upon the 
sharp features of the latter withheld their applause, 
those who had broken into hand-clapping ceasing 
their manifestations, and those who were about to 
applaud remaining silent, and everybody looked for 
important developments. Nor were all these expec- 
tant ones mistaken in their anticipations for the 
next moment proved that these two intellects had 
come into collision. 

It was no small matter when these two poised 
shields and crossed lances in the intellectual arena 
for they were both considered intellectual and eru- 
dite giants by the club and well matched. 

“Before anybody proposes a vote of approval,” 
said the secretary with slow, deliberative em- 
phasis, his eyes gleaming with a look that bespoke 
much suppressed animation, “I wish to raise one 
objection. I wish also to say that I am no caviller, 
am not in the habit of raising captious objec- 
tious. I never raise objection unless there are good 
grounds and weighty matter for my doing so. This 
I will prove!” 

He uttered the latter sentence with unusual em- 

59 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

phasis. Then he swept a glance around at those 
present and rested his eyes upon the previous 
speaker with challenging defiance for an instant, 
and proceeded with added confidence: 

“In this instance, however, I believe there are 
very weighty grounds for objecting, and I believe 
the club, or at least the majority of the members 
will sustain me in what I say after they hear me. 

“Now, what I object to,” he enunciated with 
great force, his eyes gleaming, his brows knitting, 
his hand clenching and with his arm executing a 
wide sweep about him, “is the use of the word all, 
in the closing clause wherein our honored president 
says: ‘The Club would advocate that the works of 
Browning be read and studied in all literary social 
gatherings.’ ” In silence he swept another im- 
pressive glance of confidence about him. 

“Now,” he went on with mild confidence, his 
head shaking, his arm sweeping a slow, graceful 
swerve in front of him, “I would not for all the 
world advocate the vulgarizing of our beloved poet. 
And to do as that statement advocates would, I 
believe, be doing so. I would expurge the word, 
all, and substitute, the higher for it. Have it read : 
Tn .the higher literary social gatherings.’ ” He 
paused, nodded his head energetically and looked 
around to note the effect of his words. 

A considerable murmur of approval from the 
auditors greeted this with concurring nods and 
glances, and the hands that a few minutes pre- 
viously had been shaping to break into applause 
for the advocacy and eloquence of the president, 
now burst into vigorous hand-clapping for the ob- 
jector. 

The latter, encouraged greatly by these mani- 
festations, proceeded when they had abated. 

6o 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

'The time may come/* he said with a complacent 
generous glance at the president, “when the works 
of our esteemed poet may be more widely read 
and studied by the generality of people — safely read 
in fact — without the fear of vulgarizing them, or 
subjecting them to misinterpretation. But that 
time, I fear, will not be in our time. Neverthe- 
less, it may come in some other generation when 
the general mind and understandings have been 
deepened and widened intellectually by the slow 
process that is going on of widening and deepening 
from one generation to another till the general 
mind reaches that ideal state of receptivity that 
the few possess to-day. In the meantime, how- 
ever, I think we ought to be somewhat conserva- 
tive in our expectations of what we may look for 
from the many.’* 

The speaker sank to his seat amid considerable 
applause that burst forth as he finished; applause 
from many who would have been ashamed to tell 
or recall what their grandfathers did for a liveli- 
hood. But some did not even know that much of 
so distant an ancestor as a grandsire. 

As the hand-clapping died away the president 
arose and all eyes were turned expectantly to him 
for a vigorous defence of what he had advocated 
and what had been assailed so vigorously by the 
other. But the expectant gathering was doomed 
to disappointment. 

The former realized at once that the overwhelm- 
ing majority favored the other in his contention 
and wisely decided to coincide with hm. Besides, 
when he spoke there was considerable truth in his 
statement of his views upon the matter. 

“Our esteemed secretary is right, I think, in his 
objections,’* he said with an air of placid candor, 
6i 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

‘'and I desire to voice my approval of his contention. 
If I had used more mature judgment, which I 
would have done if I had been more deliberate in 
preparing the article, I believe I would have ex- 
purged the words referred to myself, and substi- 
tuted that which is advocated by our esteemed 
brother, or some similar phrase, for it fully meets 
with my views/’ There was applause at this, and 
the objection with the approval of the general 
article for publication, was sustained by the unani- 
mous vote and the subject was dropped. This 
finished what was evidently considered the weighty 
matter of the evening, and preparations were made 
for the lighter to come. 

Shakespeare’s “As You Like It,” considerably 
abridged, was then produced, being recited from 
copy by the president, the secretary and three of 
the ladies in turn each taking part of an act in se- 
quence of number and rendering the story with 
connecting lucidity and interest to all. 

The reciting of this was very pleasing and en- 
tertaining; but what was much more pleasing and 
entertaining was the novelty of the hostess seating 
herself at the piano and rendering mirthfully the 
page song from the last act “It Was a Lover and 
His Lass,” her rich soprano voice warbling the 
words of the melody clearly and melodiously. This 
was so pleasing that an encore was insisted on. It 
was so very pleasing to John Langworth that the 
tuneful rhyme rang in his ears after the voice and 
music had ceased. Even when the refreshments 
were produced and served around by the hostess 
and the maids and conversation and discussion had 
become general upon the play rendered and other 
topics, the melody still haunted him. Even when 
later along with the others he took his departure 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

it still accompanied him homeward ringing in his 
ears. He even caught on his memory the conclud- 
ing stanza of the refrain and he found his voice 
repeating the lines : 

“And therefore take the present time, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino: 
For love is crowned with the prime 

In the springtime, the only pretty ring time ; 
When the birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; 
Sweet loves love the spring.’’ 


63 


CHAPTER VIIL 


Thoughts of the recent entertainment occupied 
John Langworth’s attention very much for the 
next few days. Often did the simple lines of the 
melodious ditty sung by the hostess form them- 
selves on his mind and he found his voice joining 
involuntarily in the refrain. And with this were 
ever visions of the woman herself, thoughtful, al- 
ways dignified, ever ready and mindful of the 
wants and feelings of others, prepared to minister 
to anyone. The sight of her breaking into song 
had been much of a surprise to him ; as great a 
surprise as it had been a pleasure. Its effect upon 
him had been not to minimize in one degree the 
respect he felt for her, but just to banish some 
little awe he had hitherto entertained for her some- 
what stately calm dignity. She seemed to him 
now more womanly and lovable, and often was her 
placid countenance with the calm, thoughtful eyes 
before him. 

He came to regard the whole entertainment as 
an exceedingly pleasurable experience and one to 
be remembered as such. He felt not at all critically 
disposed toward some of the people he had met 
there whose deportment had been of the kind to 
evoke criticism, and he was inclined to look upon 
the display of little vanities and inconsistencies of 
which he had been a witness as very human and of 
small concern. This manner of seeing things his 
reflective mind told him was undoubtedly due to 
the presence and influence of the being on whom 
his thoughts were so much centred. The deport- 

64 


A Mother of Unborn Generations • 

ment of the others, with the general display of 
small human weaknesses, had been somewhat grati- 
fying to him than otherwise insomuch that it had 
brought pleasurably to his notice the superiority 
of the woman he now began to regard as a very 
dear friend. This superiority was not only mani- 
fest in deportment, but it was in looks and intel- 
lectual attainments to many of those whose finan- 
cial and social standing was of the best and whose 
opportunities for higher attainments were unsur- 
passed. 

John Langworth did not have to tax his mind 
much the following few days in arriving at a de- 
cision of what he was to do in regard to his future, 
whether he was to return to the West and the life 
to which he had been accustomed so long, or 
whether he was to begin anew in another line of 
endeavor right where he now was, and change the 
whole current of his existence. 

At the first reflection on the subject following 
the night of the entertainment he felt that his mind 
was made up and nothing would change it. The 
passing of each day strengthened the belief that 
this decision was the right one and nothing would 
alter it. 

He would make his home in Chicago, begin im- 
mediately his early broken-ofif study of medicine 
with the object of graduating as a practitioner as 
soon as possible. That earliest possible time, he 
knew, would be two years from the present early 
summer season when the colleges were closing for 
the summer and the students returning to their 
homes to again seek the city and their studies in 
the coming fall, the time when he would begin his 
own regular course in an institution. In the mean- 
time, however, he realized he could advance him- 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

self considerably in general study. Between that 
and a return to the West to settle up his affairs in 
that section, he realized that the summer would 
soon pass and the time arrive for his close applica- 
tion to the regular course of the institution. 

It was now no half-hearted interest in the pro- 
fession chosen for him by parents, who did not 
live long enough to understand his developing man- 
hood inclinations, that possessed him. On the con- 
trary, he felt impelled by much enthusiasm, and 
capable of achieving high things. Reading the ac- 
counts of the graduations of the season of the 
young men starting out in life even intensified his 
feeling for achievement. 

It was with much interest that he sought the 
presence of the lady member of the profession he 
was choosing for himself to acquaint her with the 
intended change he was about to make in his life 
She was engaged when he called, but the maid in- 
formed him that she would see him in a few min- 
utes. 

He fell in a deeply reflective mood as he reclined 
back in the ample folds of an easy chair in the 
familiar room gazing out the front shaded win- 
dows at the warm sun or at the different familiar 
objects in the room. 

Most of his thoughts were of the woman he had 
called to see, but of a different nature than hitherto. 
The fact developed itself now on his mind that he 
had scarcely ever been wont to regard her as the 
once wife of Caldwell Winngath. To do so now, 
even when he brought the matter clear to his under- 
standing that this had been the position she had 
filled, seemed somewhat difficult. She seemed so 
entirely different to all that he could recall of the 
66 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

man she had chosen as her mate that the union 
seemed incongruous. 

He now recalled that she had never spoken of 
her departed spouse since the first meeting, and 
even then very little, as little in fact as she could 
have spoken in the circumstances. Probably this 
might have been somewhat the cause of his diffi- 
culty in so regarding her as the once wife of his 
companion. He wondered how they had met and 
in what circumstances ; whether it had been a long 
courtship or a brief infatuation ; if a brief infatua- 
tion whether one-sided or mutual; whether the 
marriage had been a happy and a lovable one, or one 
of simply mutual toleration like what he believed 
the majority of marriages to be after a time. 

He went on to analyze his own feeling for her as 
he had never done before, and what had moved 
him for her society as he had been moved. Was 
it love as understood as such in the feelings of a 
member of one sex for a closer alliance than friend- 
ship with a member of the opposite sex? Or was 
it that friendship of one intellectually inclined mind 
for the cultured intellectual mind of another, that 
might exist, whether the sexes were the same or 
opposite ? He ^was inclined to think it was the 
latter, and after some more reflection he felt more 
convinced it was but not wholly so. 

He had never had much faith in that which has 
been called platonic regard or affection between the 
.sexes. In fact, he did not think that anybody of 
common sense had much faith in it. But in this 
case it was so different he thought. She was fol- 
lowing the same profession he had chosen ; she was 
about the same age as he, just past that early youth 
when minds were generally unstable, fanciful, 
whimsical and visionary, and, like himself, free 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

from all these many weaknesses and failings; she 
possessed a deeply analytic mind, sympathetic, re- 
fined and intuitive, and though he had not the 
vanity to lay claim to all these endowments him- 
self, nevertheless, he realized there was much in 
common in their natures and temperaments. 

Thus he went on analyzing and musing until his 
reflections were ended abruptly by the entrance of 
the being who had awakened them all. She greeted 
him in the usual manner, seated herself and they 
drifted into a few commonplace discussions. Then 
when the talk was lagging he thought of breaking 
to her the news of himself. 

He was generally somewhat tardy in talking of 
himself when there was any other subject of some 
importance to discuss. 

In this respect he was the antithesis of many 
who seemingly find nothing so important as them- 
selves to talk about. 

His early teaching, environments, discipline and 
inherited traits, all had something to do with this, 
for though an only child he was far from spoiled 
in his childhood and early youth as these products 
generally are. 

‘T am going to stay in Chicago, ’’ he said at last 
in his usual quiet tone of voice as his eyes rested 
intently on the other’s countenance; “stay in Chi- 
cago, I hope, and give up the Western life and be- 
come the same as you, a medical practitioner; fol- 
low the study of the profession I abandoned years 
ago.’' 

She did not reply, but eyed him in silence with 
an intense, deeply penetrating gaze for a few mo- 
ments as if reading, or trying to read, his inner- 
most thoughts. He thought from her looks and 
manner that the information was neither gratifying 
68 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

nor displeasing, but an awakening of intense 
interest in her at a contemplated important 
step in his career. Then he thought there was a 
manner of apprehension — fear or dread in her 
strained look as the eyes gazed steadfastly into his 
own. This latter look vanished, however, in an 
instant and he was inclined to attribute it to some 
anxiety that moved her on his account regarding 
the step he was taking. Her words sustained this 
idea when she spoke, which she did immediately. 

‘Tt is a very important step to take now at your 
— your age,’’ she said with some constraint and 
anxiety in her voice; “at your age when you may 
have become somewhat — much in fact — settled in 
your manner. It may mean much — ^much indeed, 
more than you may be inclined to think in shaping 
your destiny. You know,” she went on with a con- 
fidential look, her thoughts and words forming 
themselves more readily upon her mind and tongue 
as she proceeded, “the life is far from an easy one 
for a practitioner that amounts to anything. And 
you” — she regarded him in silence for an instant — 
“I know are not the kind that will ever belong to 
the other class.” 

The latter statement was not only encouraging 
but gratifying to the listener, and he nodded his 
silent gratitude. It seemed clear to him now that 
the doubts she entertained about the step he was 
taking, and she evidently was beset with them, 
were not concerning the matter of his success, but 
of whether he would be able to withstand the strain 
of the life before him. This latter supposition was 
strengthened into clear conviction by the following 
utterance : 

“Caldwell, you know,” she said with a question- 
ing look, “was robust and strong in appearance, 
69 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

but the life, I think, wore him out in a few years. 
His strength could not stand the great strain.'' 

The other nodded acquiescently. “Yes," he re- 
joined thoughtfuly, “he seemed so strong that I 
was greatly surprised when I learned of his death. 
But I have taken into consideration fully all I will 
have to withstand and go through to make a suc- 
cess of my career, and I believe I will master it all 
and not succumb like your — ^your husband and my 
early companion." 

He was moved to some satisfaction at this turn 
of the conversation. He thought it might lead to 
throwing some light upon the matter of what kind 
of a married life the couple had led, the matter 
upon which he was so entirely ignorant. It was no 
idle curiosity that moved him to learn this, as it 
might have been in some circumstances, but a deep 
earnest interest in the woman he had come to know. 
He was disappointed, however, for she evaded the 
subject and turned to another after a brief silence. 
He might have said more during the silence to lead 
her on in unfolding some of the matter he was 
anxious to know, but he was too much of a gentle- 
man to so proceed in a matter that might cause 
another embarrassment, annoyance or pain. 

“There is a big field here in this great, growing 
city for ambitious practitioners whether male or 
female," she said with an encouraging look, “and if 
you, Mr. Langworth, have made up your mind tc 
follow the profession and are determined to suc- 
ceed there is no reason why you should not do so, 
and that you should succeed in all your undertak- 
ings is my earnest wish." As she uttered the con- 
cluding words there was a perceptible quaver in 
the voice, and it seemed a faint moisture over- 
spread the dark shining orbs gazing at him. But if 
70 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the latter he was not sure as they instantly turned 
away gazing in another direction. 

Then as a silence followed unbroken for some 
considerable time he thought it time to go, and he 
signified his intention ; then when they reached the 
door and he gazed into the countenance confront- 
ing him and took the hand extended to him as the 
eyes sank beneath his gaze, it would not have taken 
much of a seer to have foretold the awakening of 
something more than friendship between the two, 
if it had not already awakened. 


71 


CHAPTER IX. 


John Langworth was very diligent in his appli- 
cation to the study of his chosen profession for the 
following two years, seldom letting anything else 
interfere in retarding his goalward efforts. He 
had made up his mind to conclude his course of in- 
structions within the two years specified and grad- 
uate. As the time passed he showed that he was 
making good progress toward achieving his aim. 

After his visit to the West to settle up his affairs 
there, and. the opening up of college, he settled 
himself down to steady, hard routine work and al- 
lowed little in the line of diversion to intrude upon 
him. He could not escape a yearning, however, 
for some relaxation, and he invariably sought and 
found it in a visit to the lady who had so deeply 
interested him. 

He had found a boarding place near the college 
for expediency in time where collegians made their 
home. But beyond being on friendly terms with 
them he did not go. He had no liking for too much 
intimacy and from it he refrained. Occasionally 
when he felt a yearning for relaxation he would 
seek an east-bound street-car and it would whirl 
him along to the central business section of the 
city amid the great throng of shoppers, hurrying 
pedestrians, rushing street-cars and crowding 
vehicles of every description, rattling, jolting past 
in one great stream. Then a transfer to a South 
Side car and another whirl along past rushing 
traffic and huge buildings devoted to trade and 
hostelry purposes, and he would soon find himself 
7-2 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

reaching more quiet, congenial environments virhere 
peace, beauty and tranquility abounded on many 
sides and he would be within a few steps of the 
abode of the being he sought. 

There were times when he met her by appoint- 
nient to accompany her to the Authors’ Club meet- 
ings as an invited guest, though he felt no desire 
to join the organization. Sometimes on a Sunday 
evening he sought the place of worship she attend- 
ed, and at the conclusion of the service met her and 
walked home with her. 

These were pleasant walks replete with all that 
was desirable in engaging conversation, tranquillity 
or surroundings and quietude of thought. Time 
seemed to continually draw them closer together 
with an even tightening great bond of sympathy 
and congeniality of mind. There seemed to be a 
feeling in both that they stood alone apart from 
the rest of the world, though mixing much with it 
and their kind, and this feeling drew them closer 
together in the ever tightening bond. 

There were occasions when they stood within 
the doorway of the woman’s abode, or, if the 
weather was mild, upon the well-sheltered porch- 
piazza, with the quietude and beauty of night about 
them after one of these pleasant Sunday night 
walks in a departing hand-clasp that the man felt 
a growing almost irresistible impulse to gather his 
companion in his strong arms and draw her to his 
breast. But intuitively he felt that he would offend 
— greviously offend — in so doing and his natural 
self-control stood him in good stead. 

He felt that she needed his close sympathy and 
friendship, and yearned for these, but shrank from 
the nearer ties generally called love. 

When he pondered deeply about the matter, his 

73 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

mind was beset with conflicting questions. He 
would ask himself, did she cherish the memory of 
her dead husband so dearly and sacredly that she 
could not ever speak about him to another, less 
entertain the idea of another warming himself into 
the position once occupied by him? Or, had there 
been an element of unhappiness in their lives that 
the recalling was painful, and her mind was set on 
never again entering into a union that hazarded 
the possibility of a similar unhappy experience? 
These were the foremost questions that beset his 
mind when a reflection on the matter was enkindled 
in him. Time as it passed seemingly brought him 
no nearer a solution of the mystery. He was sure 
he made no mistake in his reasonings and deduc- 
tions concerning what was her desire and wish 
about the nature of their relations, for he pos- 
sessed a keenly perceptive intuitive mind and was 
not foolish enough to mistake her manner of re- 
serve for coyness if he showed he was breaking 
within its barriers too far. 

At last the second spring arrived following the 
one when John Langworth came to Chicago, and 
the two years of his college life drew to a close. 
Early summer approached and with it the gradua- 
tion day that was to give him his diploma and title 
of doctor with right to practice medicine. He had 
made a high record in all branches of study and 
he had good caused to be moved with feelings of 
joy, pride and gratification when the bright morn- 
ing of graduation day arrived and he left his abode 
in company with other collegians bedecked in cap 
and gown for the exercises that were to take place 
about noon, and the East Side play house where 
they were to be held. 

When he reached the place with his companions 

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'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the auditorium was beginning to fill up with the 
relatives and friends of the young men who were 
to be honored with degrees. Then there was 
bustling about as seats were sought, friends met 
and greeted friends, and the sound of talking and 
the hum of voices mingling with the strains of or- 
chestral music filled the air. 

The scene was a brilliant one when the grad- 
uating class, the faculty and some prominent public 
men and city officials in procession reached the stage 
and were seated amid bunting, flowers, foliage and 
flags, and the auditorium was well filled with fam- 
ily groups of parents, brothers and sisters and many 
friends of the graduates, smiling and chatting ani- 
matedly, the many white dresses of the females in 
vivid contrast to the general sombre garb of the 
males, and the proceedings were about to begin. 

John Langworth’s first act when he was seated 
was to eagerly scan the audience in search of the 
face of the being who had entered so much into his 
existence the past two years. 

She had promised to come, and he believed she 
would do so if it were possible. But he was moved 
to some apprehensions and misgivings when he 
failed to locate her in his first scrutinizing search; 
and when he thought of the uncertainty of her 
movements owing to her calling, and of the pos- 
sible demands that might be made on her services 
to detain her elsewhere, his misgivings were inten- 
sified greatly. She was the only near and dear 
mortal to him, and he felt it would be a great dis- 
appointment not to see her sympathetic, encourag- 
ing countenance confronting him on this occasion — 
the one great occasion so far in his life, so he 
thought. 

The next search, however, revealed her in the 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

balcony. She was dressed in white, which was so 
becoming to her. A large bunch of violets adorned 
her breast, and she looked very charming. 

She had been watching him, his eager, anxious 
eyes searching the audience and she tried to catch 
his gaze. This she did at last and her countenance 
beamed a glad smile of recognition upom him which 
he returned. And many a glance was exchanged 
between them as the exercises progressed. It was 
with pride and satisfaction that he glanced at her 
and about the auditorium and reali'red that amid 
all the female beauty present she was unsurpassed 
in grace and loveliness of person. She was as 
proud of him as he was of her. This was evident the 
manner she watched him. He was conscious that 
her eyes were upon him even when he was looking 
in another direction. 

At last all the speech-making and all the exer- 
cises and all that pertained to them, came to an end 
and John Langworth moved away from the stage 
with his diploma in hand amid the happy, departing 
groups exchanging greetings, extending congratu- 
lations and bidding good-byes, and he sought the 
one being who was present in honor of him alone. 

He met her in the parquet coming toward him. 
She smiled and clasped his outstretched hand when 
they met amid the passing throng. 

“I congratulate you,’' she said, her eyes beaming 
upon him. “I am happy, very happy,’' she added 
as she still held his hand and looked frankly into 
his smiling countenance. 

‘T think it is one of the happiest days of my life.” 
She had evidently thrown aside all reserve and re- 
straint for the instant in her moved emotions at 
the greeting and stood frankly before him reveal- 
ing her true feelings and true self. 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

The man beamed his gratitude upon her, and for 
the instant as they both stood smiling with clasped 
hands looking into each other’s glad countenances 
they were oblivious of everything about them — the 
hum of voices, the sound of orchestral music, other 
groups near them talking and the throng moving 
past them toward the exit, many apparently as 
happy as themselves. 

“It is the happiest day of mine,” he replied as 
her hand slipped from his own. “There is so much 
to make me happy — so much more than even my 
own success in achieving all I have achieved this 
day.” 

His eyes continued to beam the gratitude he felt 
upon her till her orbs sank beneath their intensity 
of gaze. 

Then, as the last orchestral strains of “America” 
were dying away, and the last of the throng was 
departing they moved toward the exit. 

The man escorted his companion from the build- 
ing and through the busy, crowded streets of the 
central portion of the city to a less congested sec- 
tion, and to the thoroughfare facing the lake, where 
they entered a great hostelry, and a spacious dining- 
room, amid flowers, palms and huge potted plants 
where the air was vibrant with orchestral strains 
of sweet melody. Here they were conducted to a 
table, which had been particularly reserved for 
them previously, in a quiet corner at an open win- 
dow facing the lake, where they could gaze out 
across the intervening park upon the water’s shin- 
ing calm, clear immensity, with the balmy breezes 
wafted therefrom within the open casement. 

After his companion was seated, John Langworth 
divested himself of his graduation gown by the 
help of the waiter and seated himself. Then when 
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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the waiter left to attend to bringing the ordered 
sumptuous repast, taking away the cap and gown 
at the same time, he looked after these departing 
symbolical adornments with a smile, and with a 
gesture in their direction he turned to his com- 
panion and said: 

'‘I am now again a plain, inconspicuous ordinary 
citizen; just a common, ordinary citizen/' 

“No; you’re a titled American,” rejoined the 
woman with a merry laugh. 

“I greet you, Dr. Langworth,” she went on with 
mock gravity rising and bowing low to him. Then 
as she seated herself, she added with genuine can- 
dor and a very sweet smile: 

“Why, doctor, I even wore my own graduation 
gown to-day in honor of the event. The idea of 
doing so gave me much pleasure, and I thought 
that — that you would be pleased also at the idea 
when I told you.” She blushed lightly when she 
confessed this in some little confusion, which add- 
ed much to her womanliness and beauty of person. 

The man gazed into her countenance a moment 
or two before replying, his looks bespeaking his 
deep feeling and depth of gratitude. 

“Pleased,” he murmured slowly, in low deep 
tones scarcely audible, his eyes still gazing into her 
countenance with tender intensity. “Why, my 
dearest friend,” he went on, as he touched her hand 
with his own, held it for an instant in his own, and 
would have raised it reverently to his lips if it had 
not been for the thought of others within sight of 
them, “why, I have no words to express my — my 
deep and sincerest gratitude and — and all that I 
feel — ” He paused in confusion at what was in 
his mind, and at the look of apprehension and some 
pain that for an instant passed over her counte- 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

nance, and, he remained silent in what he was fur- 
ther going to say. 

The repast was then brought, and they were soon 
chatting gayly on what had taken place that day, 
and on topics in general as they ate the dainties, 
and the time flew. Then as they looked out on the 
lake the man proposed a short trip across its glit- 
tering bosom on one of the small steam boats that 
plied here and there in the afternoon. They were 
not particular where they went, they agreed, so 
long as it was out on the great, wide shimmering 
bosom of the lake that now bespoke so much of 
calm and repose. 

John Langworth beckoned to the waiter and in- 
structed him to get his hat, which had previously 
been left in charge of the hostelry. When the man 
returned from his mission, he paid the bill, tender- 
ing a liberal gratuity to the attendant. Then, after 
lingering a little longer and indulging in some more 
conversation they both rose at last, somewhat re- 
luctantly, and left the pleasant environment of 
flowers, plants and music behind. 

Soon they reached the place from which the 
pleasure crafts sail, and boarded one of them about 
to depart. They were soon out upon the wide lake 
with nothing but the stretch of smooth, shining 
water and the far-off horizon of blue-gray sky and 
flood meeting in a huge semicircle ahead, while 
across the glittering water in their rear, showing 
against the smoky, hazy sky-line was the great city 
of huge towers and structures they had left behind. 
They sailed on sitting in a shaded nook, the music 
from a small string orchestra falling upon their 
ears, their faces fanned by gentle zephyrs, some- 
times moved to conversation, sometimes reflectively 
inclined to silence, but, happy, supremely happy, all 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the time. Finally, when they had penetrated far 
out into the blue ether and the city was but a shape- 
less dark haze in their rear, the vessel’s prow was 
turned and pointed in the direction whence they 
had come. Ultimately the sail came to an end when 
the afternoon was far spent and they had experi- 
enced much unalloyed pleasure. 

At the man’s request they sought a restaurant and 
dined again. He explained that they might as well 
make the day a full one of pleasure, and at the de- 
sire of both they sought a street-car bound north- 
ward and were soon whirling along. They rode on 
past the great business centre, and across the murky 
sluggish river; then past much of the quieter resi- 
dential localities, and finally reached the confines of 
Lincoln Park where they alighted. Then they 
strolled on across the green sward, past the flower 
beds, by the lagoons and reached the margin of the 
great lake as the dusk of evening was settling upon 
the earch and waters. 

“We have spent a happy day,” said the woman 
quietly as they seated themselves upon a bench 
within a few feet of the water and gazed out across 
its calm surface upon which the evening haze was 
speedily gathering now obscuring the last faint re- 
flection of the sun’s ruddy afterglow. Her tone of 
utterance bespoke the profoundest gratitude. 

The man was silent for a moment or two, then 
he replied. “Yes,” he said, with a far-off look and 
a sigh, “it has been a happy day, a very happy one, 
the happiest of my life.” 

Then his eyes looked into the woman’s face. 
But the dusk was gathering so that she could not 
clearly see the expression there when she met his 
gaze for an instant before she turned her own 
away. She thought, however, that it bespoke much 
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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

love and gratitude, so much love as to cause her 
to turn away quickly with some feelings of appre- 
hension. 

He took her hand lying by her side and held it. 
She tried to gently disengage it, and said in mild 
protest: '‘Don’t, please don’t. Let us be friends, 
good friends, as we have been so long. 1 would 
rather we would be friends; true friends; friends 
only and always.” 

The voice possessed much earnest pleading and 
there was a tremulousness about its tones of en- 
treaty unmistakable to the listener bespeaking some 
dread or fear. 

“We’ve been like children, as happy and care- 
free as children to-day,” she went on in the same 
manner. “Let us be the same. We’ll be happier 
that way. I would sooner we remain friends, 
friends always as we have been so long.” 

At this pleading he was moved to relent and let 
go the hand. 

“But you know children hold hands,” he mildly 
protested with a smile as he gazed into her face. 
“Did you never hold hands in those days?” He 
assumed a manner of light-hearted banter, that he 
was far from possessing, with the idea of restoring 
his companion’s previous confidence and cheerful- 
ness. 

“I do not recall much of my childhood days,” she 
replied, turning away her gaze. “I hadn’t many 
of them.” 

There was a sadness in her tone different to 
what he had expected and desired his words of 
banter would produce, and, realizing this, he said 
no more on the subject. 

Then he talked of the graduation exercises and 
the woman’s customary cheerfulness gradually re- 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

turned and she joined animatedly in the conversa- 
tion, and they were both apparently as carefree as 
previously. They talked pleasantly and cheerfully 
on many topics as they sat there and he did not try 
to take her hand again; not at least until some 
hours later when they reached her abode and they 
stood within the doorway saying good night. Then 
he held her hand in a long gentle clasp as if making 
up for all that had been denied him. He seemed 
as if he was never going to let it go till he said: 
"‘Good night; we’ve been children to-day, and so 
happy; haven’t we? I’ll call to-morrow.” 

She smiled and answered: “Good night,” with 
a sigh; and he was gone. 


82 


CHAPTER X. 


John Langworth had put forth so much dili- 
gent elforts for the past two years in insuring his 
undoubted success when graduation arrived that 
now he felt like resting and dallying for the time 
being when his object was achieved. His plans 
for the immediate future were somewhat indefinite 
and obscure. 

About all he was sure of was that he would stay 
in Chicago and build up a practice. He did not 
know, however, when he would make a start and 
in what locality. 

The warm summer weather that had just begun, 
alcrng with the ending of his arduous efforts in 
study, was principally responsible for the indecision, 
and he felt like resting for a time. Besides, he was 
not pressed to any immediate activity from financial 
reasons as he still had some few thousands of dol- 
lars left for his use. 

When the evening of the day following the day 
of his graduation arrived he sought the presence of 
the companion of the previous day whose compan- 
ionship had done so much to make it a day of un- 
alloyed pleasure and joy. He had come to regard 
her advice as invaluable and almost indispensable, 
and it was to be expected that he would seek much 
of it at this juncture. 

She met him with her customary greeting but 
the fact was evident to his scrutinizing gaze that 
there was some manner of anxiety, diffidence and 
apprehension about her. This he noticed more 
fully when they reached the familiar reception- 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

room where through the fast gathering twilight 
and the curtain-shaded windows the last faint rays 
of the sun’s afterglow was penetrating. 

They seated themselves near the casement of the 
open window for the cool comfort thus afforded 
as the evening was warm. But though the even- 
ing was warm as the day had been, yet a cool, re- 
freshing breeze blew from the lake across the en- 
vironing lawns wafting with it the fragrance of 
newly-watered grass and flowers within the open 
window. 

They talked for some time about the mutual 
pleasures they had enjoyed the previous day, which 
was very interesting to both. Then they spoke 
about the man’s future; of his coming practice of 
the profession he had chosen, but to him this did 
not produce the interest its importance called for. 
His mind was evidently beset with something of a 
different nature and of more interest to him, and 
he soon began to make languid suggestions and re- 
plies. Then they both fell into a reflective silence 
which was maintained for a considerable time. At 
last he broke the silence. When his voice began 
to frame the first word the woman seemed to know 
what was coming and she looked at him apprehen- 
sively. 

'T have wondered — often wondered,” he said 
with slow hesitancy produced by natural diffidence 
at broaching the subject, and some difficulty he ex- 
perienced in framing his thoughts and words so 
they should be clear, “if it is rare or common that 
the early cases of affection of the sexes called love 
— that affection that leads to the marriage union — 
»are so deep, profound and lasting as to preclude 
the possibility of further affection toward a fur- 
ther union when death has been the separator. Do 

84 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the mated in these cases sometimes love — love with 
such deep — very deep — affection and is the love so 
sacred and lasting as to make another affection 
treason to the memory of the dead, and an impos- 
sibility 

He was too intent upon his thoughts and utter- 
ances as he proceeded to fully note their effect 
upon the one addressed though his gaze was bent 
keenly and searchingly upon the confronting coun- 
tenance but a few feet from his own. Even if he 
had tried his best he would have experienced much 
difficulty in discerning the changing expressions of 
the face clearly owing to the growing dimness of 
the light of the room. He knew, however, his 
utterance had caused much mental disquietude. 

The woman was silent for a time after he ceased 
as if on the defensive, and he regarded her with a 
look of intent inquiry waiting for a reply. She 
had watched him keenly, her eyes narrowing as he 
proceeded, intent on catching the full import of his 
utterance, which she evidently did though he was 
neither so lucid nor so simple in the choice of ex- 
pression as was usually his wont. At last she 
spoke, still regarding him through her narrowed 
lids. 

“I should think such cases you mention are very 
rare,” she said with some hesitancy, ‘‘such cases of 
so deep affection. I, myself, never came across 
such cases, though I have heard of them,” she went 
on with more candor and freedom of restraint; 
“and if they exist, which I believe they do, they 
must be very rare, very rare indeed. In fact, my 
candid opinion is that marriage is oftener a mat- 
ter of accommodation than a matter of real and 
deep affection.” The latter sentence was enun- 
ciated with considerable added force of emphasis. 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

Then she proceeded in her previous quiet, deliber- 
ate manner: 

“The woman generally marries the man because 
she wants a home and someone to maintain her, and 
the man generally because he wants a wife and the 
accommodation of a home. It is simple, very 
simple. I do not want you to think I am heartless, 
for I am not. I regret such conditions, but they 
exist, nevertheless, grossly exist and are the rule, I 
think. I am speaking my honest convictions from 
observations and from” — she hesitated and regard- 
ed him in silence for a moment or two as she 
nervously fumbled a small volume she had taken 
up from the nearby stand — “and from personal ex- 
perience, to be candid, and to disabuse your mind 
from any erroneous ideas you may have formed of 
me. Yes, from personal experience,” she added 
with more force. 

“It is from that as well as from observations 
that I speak.” She folded one hand over the other 
resignedly, and her head moved in a reflective in- 
clination. 

“I decided to tell you this,” she proceeded after 
the pause with a sad, wistful look at the man, “to 
disillusion you if you had got the idea that mine 
was a marriage of love; for it was not. I mar- 
ried simply as the majority marry, for a home and 
the advantages it gave me. And those advantages 
I received were great to me in my condition then; 
incalculably great, in fact. I was poor — poor — 
wretchedly poor” — her voice trembled and her 
utterance was broken — “as my family was and all 
connected with me; and all I am to-day I owe to 
that union that brought about emancipation from 
wretched, grinding toil, poverty and ignorance.” 

She buried her face in her hands and a sob 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

burst from her lips, that bespoke the deepest 
anguish of soul and body, a wrenching of them 
both by mortal pain. 

The man regarded her with a look of the deep- 
est compassion, compassion unalloyed by any sel- 
fish sexual instinct and felt he would have given 
the world then to have caught her in his arms in a 
protecting, encircling bond of sympathy and love 
that would not have hazarded misinterpretation or 
offense. 

“You belittle yourself, disparage your own abili- 
ties, your natural talents,'’ he said in deep, sym- 
pathetic tones. “You owe your position much to 
yourself ; for you would have risen in any circum- 
stances, because it is in you to do so." 

The woman turned a sad, tearful face to him. 

“The instinct to rise is in most mortals," she re- 
plied as she shook her head slowly, “but the many 
never get a chance. Environments of poverty, 
ignorance and hard work with long hours, and a 
growing difficulty to even obtain the hard work 
with the long hours and retain it, and poorly fed 
and poorly nourished bodies, all the inheritance of 
the poor that tends to develop that which is low in 
mortals instead of all that is high, are too much for 
them, or the generality of them, and they cannot 
rise. I could never have risen in those circum- 
stances, but chance put in my way something better. 

“I met a man who was my better socially, finan- 
cially and in many respects. He offered me a 
home with comfort and ease, which offer I accept- 
ed. I became environed by books and influences 
that were uplifting, and I uplifted myself from 
contact with these elevating influences. All the 
libraries in the world with access to them would 
otherwise have been useless to me. The poor do 

87 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

not generally patronize the libraries. The cent 
evening newspaper, and the most sensational one at 
that, or the cheapest fiction, is about all their tired 
minds and bodies are able to digest after the long 
day’s grind and drive, to which they are subject, 
is over. It is generally the well-to-do who patron- 
ize the libraries, those who could well afford to pay 
for the fiction — the light fiction that is generally 
their chosen mental diet — that they get for noth- 
ing.” 

“But,” interposed the other gently, “I cannot 
help disagreeing with you when you lay your up- 
lift entirely to your fortunate change of environ- 
ments and influences, for those same environments 
and influences would have been but an incentive to 
frivolity, idleness, extravagance and thoughtless- 
ness in many of your sex. You have much to thank 
yourself for in all you did; yourself that has made 
you a cultured woman. You might have risen in 
other circumstances.” 

The woman shook her head with decision. 

“No,” she said reflectively, “no; the odds were 
too great. With a man it is possible and not so 
rare, but with a woman it is almost impossible. It 
might be easy for those who have got some little 
start in the upward climb, however, some little ad- 
vantage in home influences and surroundings, in 
education, or in some calling that is a little better 
than that which subjects women to the long, ardu- 
ous daily grind for small pay. But for the many, 
where all this is lacking” — she shook her head 
ominously — “it is almost impossible. Why,” she 
went on with vehemence and all evidence of her 
tearfulness gone, “why, most forces seem to com- 
bine against her uplift and tend to keep her down 
as they generally tend to keep down the poor. 

88 


"A Mother of Unborn Generations 

Men who will give bountifully to public beneficiaries 
are sometimes the very men who have been fore- 
most in crushing their least fortunate fellow mor- 
tals — subjecting them to long hours of arduous toil 
for small pay, sweating, grinding and wearing out 
by degrees their lives, souls and bodies. And as 
long as this latter process goes fully on it is bound 
to fall most oppressively upon women, the weaker 
vessel.’' She paused, her manner less impassioned 
and gazed across the room into space for a few 
moments. 

Then in a mild, conciliatory manner she resumed. 

“I do not hold the poor blameless by any means,” 
she said turning her gaze upon her companion. 
'‘They are in the great majority and could rectify 
things if they had the will and the intelligence. 
But, unfortunately, they have neither, and while 
they continue to be bountiful producers of ignor- 
ance and poverty in offspring the few will flourish 
at their cost and exploit them for their own selfish 
ends. Nor do I wish to rail against the rich for 
they do not monopolize the vices, selfishness and 
failings by any means. It is far from a rarity of 
the once poor, when they become possessed of 
wealth and power, to become the severest task- 
masters and oppressors. Human nature is very 
much the same in all classes and conditions. It is 
only the few who are very bad. The most of us 
are better than nature made us. But I did not 
mean to make this either a diatribe against one 
class or in favor of another. I inadvertently 
drifted into the one turn of the discourse in putting 
before you an idea of the terrible struggles of the 
poor of which you may be far from conversant 
owing to your little experience of the great cities 
where their struggles are the keenest and their deg- 

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!A. Mother of Unborn Generations 

radation and privation the worst. I know what it 
all is because I have run the gamut of it all. My 
family was poor, very poor and lowly.” She shook 
her head in sad contemplation at this recalling as 
she paused. 

“Well, there is more credit due you where you 
are to-day,” said the man in deep, sympathetic 
tones. “To be poor is no disgrace.” 

“But it is the author of much misery and dis- 
grace,” replied the woman; “incalculable misery 
and disgrace. And what is it all for, all this hu- 
man suffering and misery?” she sadly asked. 
“Surely no all-wise Creator could have meant it to 
be so bad as it really is? And for what purpose 
is it all? If we knew or could tell that from it all 
came some permanent good, or that it was for some 
great permanent, lasting purpose, all this life and 
suffering, it would not be so bad.” Her counte- 
nance and gaze bespoke the deepest anguish and 
solicitude as she asked the questions — anguish as 
she thought of the depth of human misery and 
degradation extant, and solicitude for some light 
to be shed upon the clouds that encompassed and 
beset her mind upon the matter of for what pur- 
pose it was all meant. 

“You know,” she went on after a brief pause 
less impassioned in her manner, “I am far from 
orthodox in my religious views, though I am a 
regular attendant at church. In that respect I am 
not unlike many of my fellow worshippers except 
insomuch that I do not accept the situation with- 
out some perplexing thought and questioning of 
the mind, much questioning in fact. 

“I am somewhat of a rebel, you know,” she said 
in conclusion; “much of a rebel I believe.” She 
rose as she concluded, took a few paces across the 
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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

room and back, then stood gazing out at the night 
through the open casement. 

“Your questions,’' said the man thoughtfully, as 
he gazed at the woman, “of what is all this life 
about, and for what purpose, are the questions, I 
suppose, that have beset the thinking minds of the 
ages and puzzled them, and they will likely be the 
questions that will still continue to be asked 
throughout the coming ages and still remain un- 
answerable and unsolvable. All we poor mortals, 
who came here without any design of our own, 
can try and believe is that in it all there is some 
great purpose of the Divine and Omnipotent, which 
I really believe there is. The misery, suffering and 
privation, however, would not be in vain if from 
their crucible such steeling metal, as we sometimes 
see, was more the general rule of production than 
the exception.” He rose as he spoke. 

“Yes,” he went on with increasing depth of utter- 
ance and intensity of gaze, “such metal as I believe 
is the composite whole of you, my dearest friend.” 

He drew near to the side of the woman, who 
after listening to him in some confusion and ner- 
vous apprehension turned her gaze without the 
window in some fear. Then when he reached her 
side he took her trembling hand, that shook like a 
leaf within his own strong hand, which she did 
not try to withdraw. 

“Let us — you and I — walk together,” he said in 
low, deep tones, “walk through life hand in hand 
as one with one purpose, sympathizing and minis- 
tering to each other, condoning and serving, loving 
and agreeing as fate meant us to do — then this life 
of ours, at least, will not have been in vain, and to 
no purpose.” 

Tremblingly the woman continued to gaze out at 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the darkness that was now quickly gathering, and at 
the avenue lights that were beginning to sparkle 
through the gloom, moved to much agitation of 
mind and body, and she did not answer him imme- 
diately. 

Then, after a few moments silence, that seemed 
to be much longer in the strained quietude that 
reigned, she turned her eyes, that were much tear- 
dimmed, to his timidly with a look bespeaking 
some a fright. 

“I feared — feared this, and tried hard to guard 
against it,’' she faltered in low, weak tones. “I de- 
sired it not to be, and would that we could have 
gone on as before, friends and friends only. But 
I have been helpless in — in loving you; helpless 
and can deny you nothing. I feel my utter help- 
lessness.” 

Then, as a fresh flood of doubts and fears swept 
through her mind, she asked pleadingly and falter- 
ingly: “Oh, John, is there no other way? Can we 
not go on as before — friends, dear friends? I 
would rather it be so because I fear — fear so much 
for the future.” 

The man gazed into her eyes in silence for some 
moments as he held her hand in his own. 

“Why, what should you fear?” he cried. “You 
have nothing to fear for the future. You can 
trust in me, you know — trust in me until death. If 
there is anything you fear, tell me, confide in me; 
tell me all ; I will sweep away your fears. You do 
not fear or doubt me, surely ? You will always be 
the same to me no matter what betide, to the end, 
to eternity.” 

“I do not fear or doubt you, John. I fear and 
doubt the future, because — because I love you so !” 
Then she asked pleadingly: 

92 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

^^And you will always care for me the same to 
the end, no matter what betide?” 

For answer the man’s hand tightened upon her 
own, and he drew her to him, gazing into her timid 
eyes till he encircled her in his strong arms and 
he felt her breast beating against his own. ‘"For- 
ever,” he whispered as he held her thus, “forever. 
You will always be the same to me through years, 
through age, to eternity no matter what befall. I 
shall always care for you and love you as I do now 
and have done for so long since we met.” 

She felt like an infant in his arms, too helpless 
to resist, and at least she had no desire to do so. 

“John,” she murmured, “I love you as I have 
done so long. I tried hard to fight against it, but 
to no purpose. I felt too helpless. Once I thought 
that no man would ever fill the place in my heart 
that you fill. Not long ago I refused a man of 
considerable wealth and position who avowed his 
love for me. I had little difficulty in doing that 
because I did not love him. 

“But I love you, John, and have been helpless 
in resisting doing so. You are the first and only 
man I ever loved.” 

“Annetta, my darling,” whispered the man as he 
strained her to his breast and his lips met hers in a 
passionate, lingering caress. “Annetta, my own.” 
And the only sound that broke the quiet for some 
moments was the ticking of the French clock upon 
the mantel. 


93 


CHAPTER XI. 


Before the passing of six weeks John Langworth 
graduate in medicine and Annetta Winngath, prac- 
titioner of the same, were united in those holy bonds 
that nothing but death is supposed to part, much 
to the surprise of some of the acquaintances of the 
latter who were members of the same church she 
attended and associates of the same social organi- 
zation, the Authors’ Club. To some of the young 
men who were better acquainted with her finan- 
cial standing than was the man she had chosen for 
a mate when he led her to the altar, they having 
known her late husband and some of his affairs 
from repute, and had cherished dreams of leading 
her where she had now been led, the news came 
somewhat in the form of a shock and a blow. 
Some of the young ladies, however, felt the keen- 
est satisfaction in the turn of affairs for they had 
not been free from some misgivings regarding the 
culmination of their own affairs of the heart while 
an attractive young widow with a paying medical 
practice and the owner of a house and a considera- 
ble bank account was free to attract and ensnare. 
Some said that she was lucky in getting such a 
pleasant, attractive manly young man, while others 
remarked that she might have done better and 
ought to have done so, and the matter that was the 
gossip for a few days was allowed to rest. 

The marriage was a simple, quiet affair free 
from much of the show and ostentation that often 
marks those ceremonies. Nevertheless, the presi- 
dent of the Authors’ Club, though not overpleased 
94 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

at the happening, could not refrain from writing it 
up and elaborating upon it in no small manner in 
his usual flowery style. 

It was a considerable article describing the cere- 
mony, and it occupied a prominent place in the col- 
umns of the “Sentinel and Star.” He stated to 
the public in conclusion, that the happy couple 
were starting on a tour of the lakes and lower 
Canada, and would be at home to their friends 
and receive them on the first day of the following 
month. 

This was the itinerary of the newly wedded 
couple. They believed it would be conducive to 
much pleasure and health-giving in the cool at- 
mosphere in the regions they were to visit. They 
had discussed the matter for weeks preceding the 
ceremony that made them one. 

They sailed up through the great lakes all the 
way to Buffalo with the gentle summer breezes of 
those inland seas, cool and invigorating, playing 
about them. Then they proceeded to Niagara Falls 
where they made a stay of a few days near the 
great cateract within the sound of its unceasing 
murmur, and amid the cooling moisture of its dif- 
fused spray; anon they journeyed through lower 
Canada to Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec making 
a stay at each place and proceeded by short stages 
home in a more direct way, reaching there after a 
month’s absence with the recollection of a journey 
spent of unalloyed pleasure and joy. 

One of their first attentions, when they returned 
to the abode that had been the woman’s and was 
now the home of both, was to have another name 
added to those upon the sign in the window, that 
had been wont to inform the public that Annetta 
Winngath, M. D,, was consultable at certain hours, 
95 


) 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

and another sign added to the other side of the 
window informing the public that John Langworth, 
M. D., was at their services. 

Then after the homecoming functions of re- 
ceiving their friends they settled down to the steady 
routine of everyday life. But there was little lack- 
ing interest, pleasure and happiness in this rou- 
tine, with nothing of the nature of the daily grind 
that often makes married domesticity irksome and 
tiring after the novelty of its initial experience has 
worn away. 

In them the possibility of domestic discord was 
almost eliminated. Both had passed through a 
varied experience of life that had broadened their 
mental scope, and reached an age and condition 
when this broadening was likely to be permanent 
in its development, and continual in its process 
There was a mutual interest in occupation, a simi- 
larity in temperaments that were even and rational. 
Their tastes were the same, their desires of like 
nature and the chance of an introduction of thetin- 
harmonious in their lives was reduced to minimum. 
They understood the art of making mutual con- 
cessions, if this were needed in their intercourse, 
which is so sadly lacking in the generality of man- 
kind. But this was hardly ever needed for there 
was a harmonious accordance in all their mutual 
transactions, doings and happenings. Their do- 
mestic life was as near the ideal as human exist- 
ence could be possible. 

The man gradually built up a lucrative practice 
and the woman increased her own, and with simple 
tastes there was more means coming in than would 
amply supply all their needs, even with the putting 
apart of a goodly sum, which eliminated any finan- 
cial problem, that prolific cause of domestic discord. 
96 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

As time passed the man continued to remain the 
lover rather than the husband, always courteous, 
deferent and obliging, never lacking in the little 
niceties that smooth life’s journey and takes the 
rough edge off existence, and which are supposed 
to be but pre-nuptial or briefly existent in duration 
after that period. 

“Why, John,” the woman said one day, “we will 
soon be married a whole year. Doesn’t the time 
fly? And to think,” she added, looking shyly into 
his eyes, “that you and I haven’t had even a cross 
word, let alone the remotest sign of a quarrel. Isn’t 
it wonderful ?” She regarded him playfully for an 
instant, then this manner gave way to a more seri- 
ous one as she continued to regard him. 

She had just entered the front parlor, where her 
husband sat, after attending to some household du- 
ties. 

The man had looked up from the paper he had 
been reading at the first sound of her utterance. 

“Not so wonderful,” was his rejoinder with a 
complacent smile, “when the fact is apparent that 
I could not quarrel with you if I wanted to, and 
you could not quarrel with me if you wanted to. 
There is neither of us would permit it. But if 
some domestic discord would add interest and di- 
version to life,” he went on jocularly, “we might 
manage to introduce some, somehow. We might 
get some of our relatives here, for instance. They 
have a reputation, you know, of stirring up things 
on the domestic hearthstone. But mine are so few 
and so far away in the far West, and yours are 
so few and so far away in the far East that I do 
not know how we can manage it. Yours are the 
nearer, however, and you might manage to get some 
of them here with an effort.” 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

The smile vanished from the woman’s face at the 
latter reference to her relatives and a cloud over- 
cast it. 

“You know,” she said with some agitation, “as I 
told you, I have no idea where any of my relatives 
are since my mother’s death which left me without 
my parents, and but only one sister, the only near 
kin, and I’ve not heard from her for years, a good 
many years.” 

The man noted the change in his wife’s counte- 
nance and demeanor and thinking it possibly indica- 
tive of some perturbation at his light reference to 
her relatives he was quick to make that which he 
thought reparation for his offense. 

‘T knew — remembered that you had no parents,” 
he explained, hurriedly. “If it had been otherwise 
I would not have referred in the least joking man- 
ner to your kin. But having the fact in my mind 
that you were in about the same condition as my- 
self, with none or few near relatives, I realized no 
offense in a little levity on the matter of them.” 

“It is not that, John,” was the quick reply, “I was 
not thinking of that at all. No such idea entered 
my head as offense at what you said. I was think- 
ing of something — something else entirely. Some- 
times I wonder,” she went on reflectively, “if this 
can last, can possibly last, all this happiness of ours, 
yours and mine. It all seems so much more than 
I ever expected, and much more ” a sad wist- 

ful smile stole over her face — “than I probably ever 
deserved. I often wonder if it will last, can last,” 
she looked appealingly down into the countenance 
of her husband with an inquiring gaze. 

The latter thought it was some passing mood of 
his wife and with an idea of dispelling it he threw 
98 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

his paper aside, sprang to his feet and caught her 
in his arms in an encircling tender clasp. 

^‘Deserve it all,’" he repeated in subdued tender 
accents as his eyes gazed compassionately into the 
liquid depth of the dark orbs confronting him and 
he anxiously scanned the countenance, “why, you 
deserve all the world, all the world can give, my 
dear one, my wife.” And disengaging one of his 
hands he moved it caressingly across the woman’s 
dark locks, stroking them tenderly as a mother 
might stroke the locks of her babe slumbering in 
her lap, as if they had been the most precious thing 
in the world. 

Under his touch the expression of anxiety and 
perturbation gave place to one of calm ecstatic 
serenity. “It was only a passing disturbing 
thought,” she whispered as she nestled closer to 
him, resting her head securely upon his strong 
shoulders, feeling much security thereby. “Only 
a phantom of a mind disturbed. But it is all gone 
now.” 

After the passing of a few months more the hap- 
piness of both was consummated — if it was possible 
for them to be happier than they had been — in the 
birth of a daughter. There was no doubt, however, 
as time went on that this advent added to their cup 
of joy, filling it to the brim as the small tongue be- 
gan to frame the names of the parents. Then when 
the little feet began to toddle the floor and more 
lisping words were added to its vocabulary an addi- 
tion of sunshine was added to the home. 

They called the little one by the same name as 
the maternal parent. It was the desire of the sire 
that they should do so, and the other acquiesced 
readily in this as she did in all that he wished. 


99 


chapter xil 


To HAVE found a home that was more of a haven 
of felicity, congeniality and tranquility than was 
this home would have been a difficult matter. The 
man loved all the inanimate surroundings with 
much of the ardency that he loved his wife and 
child, for it was part of them and no other place 
could afford him the least pleasure he experienced 
there. He was proud of his home as he was 
proud of his wife and child and any addition to its 
beauty, which was added from time to time in 
adornment and improvement, he was wont to regard 
with a similar pleasure that he regarded the grow- 
ing beauty of his wife and child. These two 
seemed to grow in grace of person from day to day, 
always improving in his sight, adding to the pride 
he felt in them. 

He would watch the expression of thought and 
care deepening upon his wife’s countenance as time 
went on adding spirituality to her rare type of 
physical beauty, and seeing in this but a developing 
mentality and growing spirituality he was pleased as 
he was pleased in the growing beauty of the little 
prattling child. Thus the days, months and seasons 
passed replete in their fullest with genuine pleasure 
and satisfaction to the man. 

One day, however, when the child was about 
eighteen months old, he was somewhat startled as 
well as perturbed by the expression on his wife’s 
countenance as she regarded the little one playing 
upon the carpet with some simple toys. It was an 
expression that seemed to bespeak the deepest an- 
100 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

guish and apprehension, and he caught a full view 
of it as he looked up from his newspaper. It was 
gone, however, in an instant. Then he began to 
doubt whether he had seen aright. 

“Are you feeling quite well, Annetta?’’ he asked 
in some anxiety. “I thought you did not look quite 
well just now. Is there anything the matter?” 

The woman essayed a smile as she turned her 
gaze to him. But it was evident at a glance that the 
smile cost her some effort, and did not bespeak her 
feelings aright. 

“Why, John,” she rejoined, moved now to some 
genuine pleasure at her husband’s evidently dis- 
played anxiety on her account, “why I really believe 
you are getting somewhat old-fogeyish in your 
anxiety about your family. I really do, you dear old 
fellow.” There was a playfulness about her now 
that was unmistakably genuine and evident to him 
and it afforded him much pleasure. 

“Why you dear old fellow,” she added slipping 
to the back of his chair and throwing her arms 
about his neck, “there is nothing the matter with 
me ; so don’t worry.” 

He raised her arms and drew her down by his 
side till she rested on the carpet and her face was 
close to his. 

“I hope there is not ; I trust there is not,” was his 
fervent reply as he held her and gazed into the 
depths of her eyes. “If there should be,” he added 
as his hand passed caressingly over her soft dark 
hair crowning her smooth white brow, “you will 
keep nothing from me, will you?” 

She did not reply immediately, but regarded him 
scrutinizingly for a moment or two. 

“Why, what could I keep from you, John?” she 
asked after the pause. “Why, I was merely feeling 
IQI 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

a little out of humor when you first spoke ; that was 
all.” And she pressed her lips to his and hurriedly 
rose to attend to some duty. 

He felt reassured by her words and manner, and 
the matter was dismissed from his mind. 

Some weeks after this, however, he came upon 
her unexpectedly when she believed him out. He 
had been out on some professional duty and had re- 
turned and entered the house by the aid of his latch 
key unknown to her. He had closed the door quiet- 
ly as was his wont and his feet had passed noise- 
lessly over the deep rich carpet of the front recep- 
tion room to the inner one where he came in sight 
of his wife, as he reached the entrance, sitting with 
her head buried in her hands resting on the table. 
She had evidently been quite alone with no one else 
near. The attitude might have been that of one 
resting from weariness, or one in profound thought, 
or even slumber, and it awoke no uneasiness in 
him or gave him any troubled concern. He was 
about to give voice to some subdued utterance, to 
let his presence be known without startling her if 
she were not slumbering, when he was arrested in 
this by the sight of the form moving slightly and 
the sound of a faintly audible sob escaping her. 

In an instant the man’s attitude of complacency 
wholly vanished and a strained set expression set- 
tled about his eyes. “Annetta,” he cried, as he 
sprang across the room to her side, seized her in 
his arms and turned her face to his, “Annetta, 
what is the matter?” He saw at once, at the first 
glance at her startled face, before she could reply, 
that something serious was apparently the matter, 
for her eyes were much bedimmed with tears and 
he had never seen her thus before. As her tearful 
eyes looked into his own his arm tightened about her 
102 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

and he raised her to her feet till she rested upon his 
breast in a sheltering clasp in his arms. Then, as 
she rested there tiredly, like a tired, grieving child 
might have done, and her head sank upon his shoul- 
ders as a deep sigh escaped her, he did not press 
immediately for a reply, but waited patiently for 
her to speak. At first as he held her thus and 
waited, her heart beat tumultuously against his 
breast in great quick throbs, and the respiration of 
her bosom in its violent rise and fall was like the 
disturbed ocean when moved by storms ; then 
gradually the agitated undulations subsided till 
they were calm and scarcely perceptible like the 
breathing of a slumbering child. Then amid this 
calm she raised her head and met his anxious gaze. 
She looked at him somewhat shamefacedly through 
her tear bedimmed eyes and essayed a smile. 

“What is it, Annetta, what is the trouble?” the 
man whispered tenderly in assuring accents. The 
woman hesitated a moment or two before replying. 

“Why, John — John, you will think I’m an awful 
— awful baby,” she murmured in confused falter- 
ing tones as her eyes looked into his, then turned 
away in confusion. 

“No, no,” he gently protested, “tell me, tell me 
what it is. There must be something.” 

“Why, it is nothing, John, nothing serious,” she 
answered, affecting a careless manner. “Merely a 
mood — a passing mood — that comes over me some- 
times, once in a while lately, and then is gone. But, 
John, you startled me a little when you first came 
in,” she went on with growing cinfidence. “I 
thought you were out at the time.” 

This description of the ailment by his wife was 
what the man's own mind had begun to suggest to 
him as the matter. It seemed to him a periodic at- 
103 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

tack of melancholia, and that now he had noticed 
the change in her since shortly after the birth of 
the child, but the change had been scarcely percep- 
tible as she had done her best to hide it. Now he 
began to formulate his own theory therefrom. Such 
changes in a mother following the birth of her child 
were not so very rare he knew, and from this re- 
flecting he was considerably disturbed in mind. He 
would have to watch and guard her carefully he 
told himself. 

Then, when she showed a desire to disengage her- 
self from his embrace, he led her to a seat and 
seated himself by her side. 

He took her hand and assumed an air of fitting 
concern without the appearance of unusual anxiety. 

"‘Have these moods been frequent or very rare?’" 
was his solicitous query with a searching gaze. 

“Just occasionally — on rare occasions,’" she re- 
plied assuringly in quiet low tones, returning his 
look. 

This was not so bad as he had thought, and he 
nodded with satisfaction. “It could not be very 
bad, after all,"" he mused: “just a mood, a passing 
mood of melancholia."" Then he said aloud with 
assurance : “It will pass off gradually, I think ; pass 
off before long."" 

Then they sat in reflective silence for quite a few 
moments, unbroken by either, the man still holding 
the woman’s hand, and both gazing across the dis- 
tance of the room. One’s thoughts were far away 
ranging across the gulf of distant years resurrecting 
the past, seeing much that she would like to close 
from her gaze forever; the other’s thoughts were 
concentrated nearby upon the loved one who awak- 
ened so much concern in him for her well-being. 

Then the woman spoke: “John,” she said, as she 
104 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

looked him in the eyes with a gaze that bespoke 
some fear and apprehension, ^'a dread comes over 
me at times that this happiness of ours — this great 
happiness — cannot last. A foreboding tells me this 
— tells me that it will not continue — it cannot con- 
tinue. It seems weVe been too happy, more happy 
than I expected, looked for or deserved, and I 
sometimes fear for the future.’’ 

“I do not fear for the future,” replied the man 
with confidence and assurance in his look and tone. 
“But I fear — fear a little — ‘for you,” he went on, 
with some doubt in his manner, “especially when 
you talk so of some foreboding evil when there is 
no reason for it. If you go on that way” — he 
frowned and shook his head in mock severity — “Fll 
have to prescribe for you, I will. I don’t like to do 
it, but I will have to do so to put a stop to this 
nonsense.” 

The woman caught the infection of his raillery. 
“If you do,” she said with a smile, “and your pre- 
scribing does not effect a speedy cure I will call in 
other skill and discard yours.” Then, looking at 
the clock she sprang to her feet with energy and 
spirit and all evidence of her previous mood gone. 
“Why,” she cried with animation, “I’ll have to go 
and see how baby is getting along, she’s been sleep- 
ing so long, and how Mary is getting along with the 
dinner.” 


105 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A FEW weeks following the closing incidents of 
the preceding chapter John Langworth sat alone 
amid the pleasant surroundings of the front recep- 
’tion room with his thoughts for company. These 
thoughts were of the pleasantest, recalling much 
that was gratifying to him. He remembered 
that it was over five years since he came to Chicago 
and three years since his graduation. He sat re- 
calling these facts and the incidents of his early 
days in this city that led to his adopting the medical 
profession in preference to his returning to follow 
the same life he had followed for ten years in the 
West. 

With vividness he recalled his graduation day and 
all the joyful incidents thereof with the utmost de- 
light. It was just three years to the very day, he 
recalled. Ah! he would never forget that day, he 
thought. He and his companion had been children 
that day, his companion and wife that was to be, 
children in all their simple pleasures and lack of 
care. It was just a similar day to this one in every 
respect, he remembered, as he recalled the clear 
balmy sunshine and breezes and the same stream- 
ing in and penetrating the partly shaded and partly 
open windows. 

It was with feelings of unusual tenderness that hf 
now thought of his wife who was out on some pro- 
fessional mission. He wished now, as he had often 
wished lately, that she would not be so zealous in 
following her calling. He was afraid she would tire 
herself out, for she was so much occupied at one 
io6 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

thing and another, and there was no necessity for it 
from a financial standpoint as his income alone was 
now more than ample for all their needs. But he 
knew it was pride in her profession and desire to 
do good that impelled her on, and the same pride in 
her home that made her so busy there and take so 
much interest in it. On this account he had re- 
frained from saying anything against her course 
except on the rarest occasions, and in the gentlest 
chiding manner possible. 

As the thus mused he could faintly catch the fa- 
miliar sounds of domesticity from distant parts of 
the house — the audibleness of the two maids in their 
daily duties, and the discernible prattle of the child 
in her playroom — mingling with the further-off 
sounds of the outside world. 

Somehow his thoughts drifted to a recalling of 
Hilkley Tweedwell as he sat there. The man had 
scarcely ever entered his mind since their brief 
meeting and parting years ago in the West. In 
fact, he felt no desire to recall him, for the impres- 
sion he had carried away concerning him was far 
from a pleasing one. The only gratitude he had 
ever felt for him was at the thought that he had 
been a part instrumental in bringing about the 
pleasant state of affairs, insomuch that he had 
spoken of the other college companion being located 
in Chicago, and thereby furnished some directions 
that had resulted in meeting the woman who was 
now his wife. 

He had never even mentioned Hilkley Tweed- 
well’s name to his wife or spoken about him to her. 
He had felt some reluctance in doing so when he 
had explained to her that he had gotten some clue 
to the whereabouts of her husbands location from 
107 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

a college companion whom he had met casually in 
the West. He had told about the accident on the 
railroad, and touched lightly on the part he had 
played in dragging himself and a fellow passenger 
to land. There had been considerable about the 
manner of the man whose life he had saved that had 
left far from a favorable impression. This, with 
the remembrance of the incidents of their last out- 
ing together in New York had intensified his desire 
not to speak about him to his wife. Besides, to 
speak about a companion of her late husband was in 
a manner resurrecting the latter to memory, and as 
his wife had on all occasions shown a desire to 
avoid this, the desire had been reciprocated on his 
part. 

Now as he thought of Hilkley Tweedwell he 
wondered what had come of him; if he had re- 
turned to the location of his home and started anew 
as he stated he might do when so advised ; if he had 
resumed his domestic companionship with his wife 
whom he had forsaken and whom he was wont to 
denounce so severely. 

This denunciation of his spouse, wherein the 
blame of all his misfortunes and failures was laid 
to the woman had been far from productive of the 
desired aim of showing him in the light of matri- 
monial martyr. John Langworth had drawn his 
own deductions from what he had heard and the 
manner of the man. These deductions had shown 
him in anything but a favorable light without con- 
cluding that the woman was blameless. There were 
faults on both sides, he reasoned, probably serious 
faults. 

Now, however, he was inclined to regard Hilk- 
ley Tweedwelhs faults more lightly than hitherto. 
io8 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

Probably if he had gotten a wife with half the 
virtues and abilities of his own he would have been 
a different man entirely, he reasoned. 

As he reasoned thus about the man, regarding 
him in a much more favorable light than he had 
ever done before, he dismissed him from his mind. 

John Langworth had not long done this and was 
thinking of other matters of little importance when 
the door-bell rang and his mind was brought into 
active speculation regarding the visitor and what 
his business might be. He could see through the 
Venetian blinds that it was the form of a man at 
the door, and when he heard the maid moving in 
that direction to answer the summons he remained 
seated to await the visitor being ushered within. 
When this took place the form of a man, tall and 
well proportioned, stepped through the doorway 
and the master of the house rose to meet him with 
an ordinary bow as was his wont, his eyes at first 
not plainly discerning the features of the visitor in 
the gloom of the window-shaded room. But in an 
instant more as he drew nearer, and his eyes looked 
more closely into those of the visitor, he paused in 
astonishment and an exclamation of surprise 
formed itself on his lips. “Tweedwell !’' he cried; 
“why, who would have expected!’" 

“Yes, who would have expected, indeed! such 
as your humble servant turning up as he has done,’" 
was the response as the man stepped forward with 
outstretched hand and a broad smile upon his face. 
“Why, Langworth!” he went on, as their hands 
met in a clasp and their eyes looked closely into 
each others, then scanned each other lineaments 
intently, “why, we — you and I — seem to be des- 
tined to meet in strange circumstances. Fate 
seems to throw us together in an unusual manner. 
109 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

This meeting is strange — strange even as the other 
was. You were the last one in the world I expect- 
ed to meet when I came here to trace up my old 
companion, Dr, Caldwell Winngath. Now I meet 
Dr. Langworth instead. What will it be next? 
And to think, he proceeded hurriedly after the 
briefest pause for breath, “that I should meet you 
here — you. Dr. Langworth — with your sign upon 
the very house to which I had traced Dr. Winngath 
by the aid of an old directory.” 

John Langworth had been almost too surprised to 
formulate any lucid connective sentence as his 
gaze rested on the visitor and the most he felt 
capable of doing as the hurried flow of utterance 
emanated from him was to gaze in surprise and nod 
to what the man said. Now as he paused after the 
reference to the deceased practitioner the former’s 
surprise vanished. 

“Caldwell Winngath — Dr. Winngath,” he said, 
reflectively, “has gone the long journey, long ago. 
He had been dead about two years when I last saw 
you and came here. I looked up his address when 
I came to the city and found it by The same aid as 
you. Mrs. Winngath was residing here and I met 
her.” 

A quizzical expression settled on the visitor’s 
countenance at the latter information. 

“And you have made great strides. Dr. Lang- 
worth, since I last saw you, evidently — graduated 
in medicine, practicing, have a fine home, and — 
married, I suppose?” A nod and look of inquiry 
accompanied the latter words. 

“I was married about three years ago, soon after 
I graduated in medicine,” was the quiet reply. The 
lady I married was the widow of Dr. Winngath. 
She was already a medical practitioner when I met 
1 10 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

her, and I believe her influence — or rather the influ- 
ence she unconsciously exercised over me was the 
cause of my seeking the profession that I thought I 
had abandoned forever more than ten years pre- 
viously.” 

‘‘Well, it is all surprising, very surprising,” was 
the reflective comment of the other. ‘‘I saw noth- 
ing more of Winngath and heard little of him after 
I went West that time, when the three of us were 
together after the closing of college and my grad- 
uation, except once from that college acquaintance 
I accidently dropped across in the West that I told 
you of when I last saw you.” 

His gaze dropped from the other’s countenance 
to the floor and he studied the carpet abstractedly 
for a time. “Well, well,” he commented musingly, 
“so Winngath has gone the long and last road long 
ago. It’s all very surprising when you think what 
a big, strong fellow he was. And so you married 
Winngath’s widow?” he asked, looking up into 
the other’s countenance. 

There appeared a light manner about the utter- 
ance that jarred the listener somewhat. He ac- 
quiesced with a slow, dignified inclination of the 
head. This dignified manner did not altogether 
please the visitor. “He is getting somewhat 
uppish,” was his inward comment as his eyes nar- 
rowed and his mouth hardened. 

“Yes, I married her,” was the explanation in a 
quiet, thoughtful manner, “and I have married one 
of the best creatures that ever drew the breath of 
life” — he shook his head impressively — “the 
truest and the best.” There was a reverence about 
the man and the utterance that made the visitor 
open his eyes and show general surprise in his 
looks. 


in 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

The latter had evidently expected a reply some- 
what different. Not only was he so accustomed to 
hearing himself decrying his own spouse and de- 
claiming against her, but it was not uncommon for 
him to hear others doing likewise in reference to 
the companions they had taken for better or worse, 
and he was far from pleased. 

His mind had already been busy formulating 
suggestions that the marriage on the man’s part 
had been simply a matter of what material benefit 
he could derive from it, and nothing more, when 
he was somewhat disabused of that idea by the un- 
expected unfoldings. 

“Gad, Langworth, you’re a lucky man!” he ex- 
claimed, as he patted the one addressed on the 
shoulder in an effort at cordiality that cost him 
some strain. “You’re as extremely lucky as I have 
been extremely unlucky.” 

The host then asked the visitor to be seated and 
seated himself. Then they both remained silent 
for a time, each deeply occupied with his own 
thoughts for a few seconds, gazing into space. 

Hilkley Tweedwell was engaged gazing down the 
vista of the past, resurrecting much of the departed 
years that recalled vividly to him a full realization 
of his own miserable failure in life. Then with a 
sad shake of the head and much impressiveness of 
voice he said: 

“If I had only had a wife that I could have given 
the least iota of the praise that you have given 
yours my life to-day might have been — would have 
been, I am sure — one of success in place of failure ; 
miserable, abject failure.” He went on shaking his 
head in sad reflection still gazing into space. 

“I tell you what, Langworth,” he cried with 
vehemence, clenching his hands and looking up, “a 
112 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

woman can make or break a man. Drag him down 
to the dogs! Yes, down, down to hell! to ruina- 
tion !'’ 

'‘A weak one,’* the other muttered to himself as 
he gazed at his companion. It was difficult for 
him to believe that a man could be so dragged down 
if his inclinations were not in that downward di- 
rection. 

The visitor seemed to read some of these inward 
utterances and thoughts in the confronting counte- 
nance and for the time being he felt he hated and 
detested the man for his self-confidence and arro- 
gated strength. This feeling departed, however, as 
speedily as it came, and he proceeded in his narra- 
tive. 

“Well, Langworth, with that hundred you gave 
me I started East and returned to Des Moines 
where my wife was to make a start over again. I 
laid the money out in good clothes and some neces- 
sary things, procured a suite of fine apartments in 
a first-class section of the city, and put up my sign. 
Well, do you know” — he shook his head signifi- 
cantly at the other — “from that showing I made 
that woman got an idea that I had struck it rich in 
the West — made a big stake — and it was only a 
few days until she got around me all right and we 
were living together again. Nevertheless, she was 
not the only one that got the idea that I was on top 
again, for crowds of old acquaintances flocked about 
us in that fussy manner they will flock about those 
that are prosperous; crowds that wouldn’t have 
looked at me if I had come back in a shabby coat 
and evidence of failure. 

“I always talked of success, never of failure, and 
of what a glorious country the West was. It was 
all very effective. Friends and practice poured in 

I13 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

upon me and increased at a wonderful rate. Every- 
body seemed to help me up higher when I was up, 
the same as everybody will help to kick one down 
lower in the gutter if you are down, or going down. 
Well, I did fine for quite a while ; and I would have 
continued doing so if it had not been for that 
woman. 

“I stood her extravagance all right — and that was 
enough to break any man at any time — as there was 
plenty of money coming in from the high-class 
practice I had built up among the high-class so- 
ciety people of the town. But she was bound to 
break me as she had done before, and she did it in 
the same manner. 

‘‘You know, Langworth’^ — he looked interroga- 
tively at the one addressed with a significant shake 
of the head, and his voice was lowered to a deep, 
confidential tone — “women will admire men — even 
ladies well born — if the men are pretty good look- 
ing and well built. And you know I’m not bad 
looking and well built when I am at my best, which 
I am not now. Well, to cut the matter short, it 
was the same old story. I think I told you some- 
thing about a similar experience before. She got 
jealous, insulted women on the very street, raised 
the very devil in fact, for suspicion with her was 
equivalent to guilt, and broke me as she had done 
before. I struggled hard against it all to keep up 
my head, but all in vain. I went down, down, then 
drifted to other places, and here I am a broken 
man and all through that woman. Damn it all, 
Langworth,” he cried as he shook his clenched fist 
with vehemence and his eyes glared with wrath, “I 
never had a chance with that woman! She’s been 
my undoing always, my evil genius.” 

The host had had plenty of time during this 
1 14 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

narrative to closely scrutinize the visitor, his gen- 
eral appearance and manner, and draw deductions 
therefrom regarding what kind of a man he was 
in character, reliability and whether he had ad- 
vanced or retrograded in those qualities that stand 
for what is best in manhood since they had last met. 

The scrutiny seemed to reveal many defects in 
both appearance and character, least of all was the 
well-worn, shabby suit of clothes he wore and the 
frayed and much soiled linen, for John Langworth 
was not the man to condemn or esteem one by the 
appearance of the clothes that covered him. 

The visitor seemed to have noticed the scrutiny 
and divined some of the impression it made. 

“Langworth, I am not very presentable,’’ was his 
admission with an impressive shake of the head 
and a sweeping gesture of his two hands toward 
the one addressed. 

“The fact is, I have nothing to make myself so 
with,” he went on to explain as a long drawn out 
sigh indicative of much mental anguish broke from 
him. “I am broke, utterly broke, with not a dollar 
in my possession. I never was so low down before 
in all my life as I am now.” 

The one addressed made no comment, but rose 
from his seat, stepped into the other room and re- 
turned immediately with some paper currency in 
his hand, which amounted to fifty dollars, and ten- 
dered it to the visitor in as easy a manner as he 
could assume as he remarked : 

“You will be able to rig yourself out with that 
and have something left to provide with while you 
are looking around and deciding what you will do.” 
Then, looking at his watch, he said: “It is a won- 
der my wife is not home by this time. She’ll soon 

115 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

be here, I expect, then we’ll soon have dinner. You 
are welcome to join us.” 

The visitor was profuse in his thanks, but de- 
clined the honor. He seemed in a great hurry to 
go all at once, attributing this haste to his present 
appearance. So the host did not attempt to detain 
him longer. In fact, he was pleased at his going 
after he had taken his departure. He felt, how- 
ever, that he could hardly have done otherwise than 
ask him in the circumstances to stay. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


After Hilkley Tweedwell had taken his depar- 
ture and the other was left to deep, undisturbed re- 
flection about him, his appearance and the nature 
of his visit, which he now realized was primarily 
for financial assistance, he felt a relief that he was 
gone, and that he did not remain for the evening 
meal as invited to do. He could not rid himself of 
the feeling that there was contamination in his 
presence, at least in his family circle. He felt that 
it would have been all right to meet him elsewhere, 
but here where his wife and child was he preferred 
his absence. He wondered if the man would call 
again. He doubted very much whether he would 
do so when he recalled the fact of the previous as^ 
sistance, financial and otherwise, that had been 
rendered, and the profuse expressions of gratitude 
and promises to pay back the financial obligation as 
soon as his affairs mended, which promises he 
seemed to have forgotten entirely when the change 
in his affairs came about, for he never even dropped 
a line of writing to his benefactor though an ad- 
dress in the West had been given him which would 
have carried any communication to the former. 

Though John Langworth’s reflective mind could 
discern little that was good in the man, and he was 
almost convinced of his utter selfishness and lacK of 
redeeming traits of character, yet he failed to see 
how he could have done otherwise than he had 
done in rendering him assistance and offering him 
the hospitality of his home. It was what any one 
with the least feeling of sympathy for his kind 
II7 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

would have done in the circumstances for an old 
acquaintance in distress, he reasoned with himself. 
After arriving at this conclusion he dismissed the 
matter from his mind. 

He had scarcely done this when his wife re- 
turned. She was cheerful in her manner but looked 
a little tired, and they sat together discussing the 
case she had attended as was sometimes their wont 
on these occasions after a professional visit on her 
part. Then he thought he would tell her of the 
recent caller. 

‘T had a visitor in your absence,” he remarked in 
a careless manner. He rose from her side as he 
spoke and moved about the rom as was occasionally 
his custom when indulging in talk that was of little 
concern. “He is a medical man from the West,” 
he went on in the same careless way, glancing occa- 
sionally at his wife; “an old acquaintance in fact, 
dating back so far as my brief abruptly ending 
college tuition in New York. He looked up this 
address thinking to locate Dr. Winngath, also an 
old friend of his, and he was surprised — exceeding- 
ly surprised — to meet me here instead and to learn 
about his other friend being no more.” 

The woman had listened at first with careless 
notice to the unfolding, but as her husband pro- 
ceeded the carelessness gave way to a look of 
strained, set attention. 

“We were just discussing the strangeness of the 
meeting after these years,” the man went on, en- 
tirely ignorant of any change in the manner of his 
wife, “and remarking that we seemed to be des- 
tined to meet in unusual circumstances, for our 
previous meeting could not have been any more 
extraordinary than it was for we met that stormy 
night after the railway accident, I told you of, 
ii8 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

sweeping down the river with the onrushing cur- 
rent and he was the very man I dragged to the 
shore, the man I had not seen for the previous ten 
years since I was a medical student in New York 
and he was a graduate in medicine. Hilkley Tweed- 
well is his name. I don’t recall mentioning it to 
you. But you may have heard it from Winngath 
for he was on more intimate terms with him than I 
was. But you could not have met him as he left for 
the West about the same time as I did, the year be- 
fore Winngath graduated. 

“We — ” the man was proceeding when he was 
arrested abruptly by the appearance of'his wife. 

“Why, Annetta! what’s the matter?” he cried in 
alarm ; then he sprang to her side where she rested 
upon the lounge. “You look ill.” 

The woman certainly did look anything but well. 
He would have noticed that fact a few moments 
sooner, when the change took place in her counte- 
nance if he had not been so intent on the story he 
was narrating. 

The set, strained expression of countenance, with 
the half-closed eyes with which she had been re- 
garding him as he proceeded in the unfolding about 
the visitor, changed suddenly to a look that might 
have bespoken alarm, dread or fear. The lines 
about her face seemed to deepen immediately, the 
color of youth gave place to a pallid hue, and the 
eyelids opened widely. She looked weak and faint 
as if the strength of life had forsaken her in an 
instant. 

“You look ill,” the man went on as he seized one 
of her hands while his other arm enfolded her and 
he gazed into her eyes anxiously. “Let me get 
something — some stimulant,” he asked with eager 
solicitude. “You’ve overtaxed your strength. I 
iig 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

wish you wouldn’t do it. I thought you looked 
tired when you came in. I wish you would give it 
all up, I do.” 

The woman made a weary gesture with her hand. 
“Never mind getting anything,” she murmured. “It 
is only a passing weakness. I was not feeling very 
well. It will disappear immediately when I get a 
cup of tea and a little something to eat.” She 
essayed a smile as she spoke and gazed into his 
face, but it was a weary, tired smile that confronted 
him. 

“Perhaps it may seem a little selfish,” she pro- 
ceeded with a conciliating look and tone of utter- 
ance, “for me to follow my profession so closely. 
But it has become so much a part of my life and I 
love it so even though it does tire me occasionally. 

^But I interrupted you, John,” she said hurried- 
ly, as if she had suddenly recalled a matter that 
had slipped her memory. ‘‘You were talking of 
that man, that acquaintance — that old acquaint- 
ance of yours. Is he calling again in the future, 
and— staying in the city?” As she asked these 
questions she turned her gaze away from his and 
looked across the room. 

The husband shook his head dubiously. 

“I do not know ; it is hard to tell,” he replied re- 
flectively. His thoughts were suggesting to him 
that Hilkley Tweedwell was one of those acquaint- 
ances that look up friends only when they are in 
need of obligations and likely to get their needs 
supplied, and he would scarcely call again imme- 
diately with the same object in view. But he did 
not like to give utterance to his thoughts on the 
matter. He always refrained from belittling any 
one m the estimation of another if he could help it. 

“The chances are that he will not call again. His 
120 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

visits^ are likely to be much apart, years apart in- 
deed/* He could scarcely express a smile as he 
gave utterance to this and looked at his wife. 
made him welcome, however,** he proceeded to ex- 
plain. asked him to remain for dinner, and 
asked him to call again. I could not do otherwise 
in the circumstances. But he seemed in a great 
hurry all at once to be gone.** 

The manner of this explanation meant to be 
frank, but spoken somewhat hesitatingly awakened 
some questioning thought in his wife*s mind. 

*Ts he a man apparently well to do or other- 
wise?** she asked with some apparent interest. 

‘'He is oftener not well-to-do than otherwise,** 
was the frank admission. 

“And you assisted him, John?** 

A nod of acquiescence and a steadfast look was 
the answer. 

“And you assisted him previously?** 

Another nod was the reply to this. 

The woman did not comment on the matter, but 
became deeply reflective. 

Then, after a few moments thought she said with 
animation and little weariness: 

“Let us go to dinner, John. It must be ready 
by this time/^ 


I2I 


CHAPTER XV. 


For the following few days John Langworth 
was moved to the utmost anxiety and perturbation 
of mind by the condition of his wife. She con- 
fined herself much to her room and seemed in a 
very bad state both mentally and physically. For a 
time the anxious husband feared a general break- 
down. This, however, did not occur, and in the 
passing of a few days more she showed some im- 
provement. 

During this precarious and bad condition of the 
health of the mistress of the house Hilkley Tweed- 
well called. There was a great change in the man’s 
appearance. He hardly looked like the same per- 
son garbed in a new stylish suit of clothes, freshly 
shaven and with new, immaculately clean linen. 
He would now have passed readily for the pros- 
perous professional man in high standing, and 
would have quickly ingratiated himself into the 
favor of a big portion of the opposite sex, as he 
was wont to intimate by his talk that he was in the 
habit of not infrequently doing. And this was 
probably true and free from exaggeration for he 
was a man of fine carriage, physique and a certain 
manner of assurance that frequently goes a long 
way with the opposite sex. 

“Gad, Langworth !” he exclaimed with a smiling 
countenance as he smote the one addressed famil- 
iarly on the back with the flat of his hand. “Gad ! 
but it makes a world of difference to a man when 
he’s got his body well clothed, his stomach well 
filled with good food, and a liberal supply of the 
currency of the realm in his pocket. With all this 
122 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

he not only has a good opinion of himself, but 
nearly everybody else has an excellent opinion of 
him, too. Men will respect and reverence him, 
women will adore and worship him ; but without all 
these, and with the same body and brains, he feels 
like a dog, and is treated like a dog and often much 
worse.’’ 

The host smiled good-humoredly to what was 
said. He felt in better spirits this afternoon than 
he had been for some days for his wife was show- 
ing a considerable improvement to what she had 
shown since she had been unwell. He felt pleasure 
and satisfaction at seeing so great an improvement 
in the appearance of the visitor from the previous 
meeting. 

'‘Yes, it is an obvious fact,” he said with a smile 
after they had seated themselves, "that these aux- 
iliaries to man, clothes, money and food are playing 
as important a part as ever, if not more, in the 
economy of things, and are as important if not 
more important than man himself. In many re- 
spects we remain as much the animal as ever. Not 
only do our individual desires and instincts keep us 
so, but the instincts of our surrounding fellows do 
the same. The coat may not make the man, but it 
certainly helps considerably to do so.” 

"Especially the shoulder part of his anatomy,” 
was the jocular rejoinder. "Some would not make 
nearly the showing nowadays if it were not for the 
coat and the auxiliary padding. And it’s funny, 
too, in reference to clothes and present condition of 
things,” he added with a laugh, "that one man 
works not at all and has a man help him change his 
clothes, while another man works hard and has no 
clothe^' to change.” They both laughed heartily at 
this. 


123 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

They went on in a similar light strain talking on 
other matters — their college days and their experi- 
ences in the West. Then the visitor took his leave 
promising to call again and expressing a hope he 
would have the pleasure of meeting the mistress of 
the house on the next visit and entirely recovered in 
health. 

She had apparently recovered when he called 
again, which he did in a few days. She was out, 
however, at the time on some professional duty. 
He lengthened the duration of his call, far beyond 
his intended time of going, for the purpose of see- 
ing her. The man felt a curiosity of considerable 
intensity to see the woman who had first been the 
wife of one of his medical companions and was now 
the wife of the other, and had herself adopted the 
profession of them both. He believed from his own 
judgment she must be a woman of far from the 
ordinary ability of the sex, and from what he had 
heard of her from her husband that belief was in- 
tensified in no inconsiderable degree. 

Finally as he had begun to think he would have 
to abandon the idea of seeing her on this visit, as 
her return home was delayed so long and he did 
not like to make his stay so unusually protracted, 
she made her appearance. 

After she entered the house she came in the room 
at the sound of her husband’s voice making known 
his presence to her by calling her name. She held 
her gloves in her hand, of which she had been di- 
vesting herself, when her attention was drawn, and 
paused just within the doorway. 

Both men rose as she entered — the husband to 
formally introduce her to the guest and the latter 
to receive the introduction. 

There was a manner of modest pride about the 
124 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

husband as he looked at his wife, then at the visitor, 
and simply said: 

''My wife. Dr. Tweedwell/' 

The man bowed and so did the woman, though 
the former evidently expected a hand-clasp and 
was preparing to advance to receive it, but checked 
himself when no motion was made by the woman to 
offer her hand. The husband also noticed this 
omission, especially as she was wont to extend her 
hand in such circumstances wherein the one intro- 
duced was someone she had heard of before and 
not altogether a stranger. He was quick, however, 
to attribute this omission on her part to what little 
knowledge she had gleaned of the visitor’s char- 
acter from the brief conversation about him in 
which they had indulged the evening following his 
first call. She evidently thought he was hardly a 
proper person, was his deduction, and he could not 
help thinking she was right. 

She showed some diffidence about advancing 
more than a step beyond the doorway entrance of 
the room, and what might have been taken as a lack 
of interest in the visitor for her gaze scarcely rested 
on the man when it sought her husband and she re- 
marked to him about the manner in which she had 
passed the afternoon calling on several patients. 
This the husband also attributed to the same cause 
as the previous omission. 

As she went on speaking the visitor’s gaze was 
bent intently upon her drinking in every intonation 
of her voice, scanning the lineaments of face and 
form closely, noting the tallness of figure, the fine 
proportions of form, the darkness of eyes and hair 
and the fine regular features. Though her gaze 
was directed at her husband she seemed to be fully 
conscious of the intentness of the other’s scrutiny 

125 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

and she experienced a difficulty in concealing some 
awkwardness of deportment thereby. As she con- 
tinued to address her husband, and the visitor con- 
tinued to scrutinize her intently, she appeared to be 
under some strain, mental and physical. There was 
a tenseness about her and almost an attitude of de- 
fiance in poise of body and expression of counte- 
nance as she proceeded and drew herself up to her 
full height. 

She was tall in a moderate sense though not ex- 
tremely so. Her form was full with rounded 
curves, though far from heavy, and with that grace- 
ful litheness that rarely goes with a woman past 
thirty. As the summer evening sun filtered through 
the windows and lace curtains flooding the room 
with soft, golden light, her beauty of face and form 
was shown to the best advantage. Both men be- 
came observant of her beauty of person and were 
moved to admiration. 

Her husband also noticed some strange, strained 
manner about her deportment. 

‘'Annetta,'’ he said with anxiety in his expression, 
‘T think you're tired. You've been overdoing it 
again, I fear. I wish you would not. If you will 
not sit down, go and rest yourself. I’m sure you're 
tired. 

“We'll excuse you — Dr. Tweedwell and I. He 
knows you’ve not been well ; I told him that." 

The visitor acquiesced in this, and the mistress 
of the house bowed, excused herself and left the 
room. 

“I do not know what has come over my wife for 
some time past," the host explained, apologetically. 
“It is evident, however, that her health is not nearly 
what it was. She has been doing and trying to do 
too much. I wish she would give it all up — her 
126 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

entire practice. There is no necessity for it. I ad- 
mire and sympathize with her ambition, but I begin 
to think — am convinced, in fact — that it is injurious 
to her.’’ 

The one addressed nodded understanding^ to 
all this, but there was a manner about him as if he 
was engrossed in some deep thought and oblivious 
to the import of much that was said to him. This 
he really was for the woman who had recently 
been in his presence was in his mind filling it to the 
exclusion of everything else. 

He gave little thought about her deportment of 
reserve toward himself and her lack of notice of 
him, because he knew it was not uncommon for 
the sex to act in that way toward a stranger at first. 
It was the woman herself he was thinking about, 
and she was before him now as she was but a few 
minutes previously filling his mind’s vision. 

He had seen and known many fair women in his 
time, some of them fairer than the one hejiad just 
met, but none more interesting looking to him. He 
could see her as she stood in the shadows of the 
room just away from the golden evening light filter- 
ing softly within. He could see the proud, tense 
face and form, the latter drawn to its full height; 
the lips like the eyes full, proud and firm, yet with 
a wistful tenderness bespeaking a wonderful depth 
of feeling, human sympathy and love; the wide, 
smooth brow, crowned by the wealth of dark hair, 
telling of a superior mentality. 

After a time the host noticed his visitor’s preoc- 
cupation and he became meditatively silent, too. 
Thus they sat for a time till the one signified his 
intention of going, and took his departure. 


127 


CHAPTER XVT. 


When Hilkley Tweedwell called again and failed 
in meeting with any reduction in the manner of re- 
serve of the mistress of the house, that he had met 
on his first visit there, nevertheless this did not de- 
ter him from being just as assiduous in his calling; 
and though on subsequent visits there continued to 
be a similar deportment on her part toward him 
when they met, yet he continued to call just the 
same. If she was at home she was either busily 
engaged in some household duty or indisposed, and 
would make the briefest stay in his presence if 
called there by her husband, which happened on 
rare occasions; otherwise she would remain away. 
On the occasion when she was called there she 
would enter the reception-room with a courteous 
bow, pass a few remarks about the weather and 
withdraw. 

A fixed expression of anxiety settled upon her 
countenance. At times when alone there was a 
haunted look of fear about her eyes, an apparent 
dread in her mind of impending danger that was 
about to fall. 

Hilkley Tweedwell had never met her alone. 
This finally happened one day when her husband 
was absent. 

The two maids happened to be busy and she an- 
swered the ring of the door-bell herself, as it was 
not uncommon for her to do, and as she opened 
the door she came face to face with the man for 
the first time without someone else being present. 
She had expected somebody else and there was an 
128 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

awkward pause on her part for an instant as she 
stood with her hand on the door. 

She had recovered, however, in an instant from 
the surprise, bowed courteously without offering 
her hand, held the door for the visitor to enter and 
closed it after he stepped within. Then with a 
remark on the nature of the weather she led the 
way to the reception-room and asked the visitor to 
be seated. 

“My husband is out,’’ she remarked in quiet 
tones of reserve as she paused after entering the 
room, and stood facing <the one addressed but 
scarcely looking at him. “I was preparing to go 
out myself.” 

This latter fact was evident from her appearance 
for she wore a dark street costume, her toilet was 
attended to with extreme care, and apparently had 
just been completed. Altogether she looked very 
charming despite the manner of reserve she as- 
sumed and the settled anxiety and sorrow in her 
eyes as she stood with her two hands crossed in 
front of her facing the man but looking through 
the window without. 

The visitor noted all this and was fully alive to 
all her beauty. He did not seat himself as request- 
ed, but stood facing her. He realized he could 
hardly prepare to stay after the latter explanation 
of the mistress of the house. 

He had replied fittingly to her former remarks 
upon the nature of the weather as she preceded 
him into the room. Now when they came to a 
stand, and stood facing each other, his eyes scarce- 
ly left her countenance. He looked more grave 
than usual. There was now no evidence of his not 
uncommon jocular manner when meeting her hus- 
band. The fact was soon evident that there was 
129 


I 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

something on his mind, that he was going to say, 
which he hesitated about putting into words, and 
a considerable pause followed the woman’s expla- 
nation of her husband’s absence and her own inten- 
tion of going out. 

She evidently noted his deportment, as her glance 
at intervals swept his countenance, and was appre- 
hensive of some unfolding on his part that she pre- 
ferred not to hear, and her eyes narrowed consider- 
ably. 

“I do not know when he will be back, she went 
on to explain more to break the apparent tension 
than for any other purpose. “You as a doctor must 
know that his movements are very uncertain.” She 
made an effort to appear fully at ease, but she was 
evidently laboring under some considerable strain. 

The man nodded understandingly. “Yes, I am 
fully conversant with that fact. However,” he 
said, assuming a demeanor of indifference, “there 
was nothing particular about which I wished to see 
him. We have met so much lately and had so many 
talks of — of old times and things in general that 
the least meeting and the least talk with — with his 
interesting wife, whom I have seen so little of, 
would be, I am sure, a very desirable change and 
much appreciated if she is not too much engaged 
or too much in a hurry, which she generally is.” 
He looked frankly at her as he spoke thus, and 
from his manner, which was of the blandest, it 
would have been difficult to realize that he intend- 
ed what he said otherwise than as a mild compli- 
ment to the one addressed. 

Nevertheless the woman regarded him doubt- 
fully and seemed to be standing on her guard. If 
he had thought to thus break down the barrier of 
reserve in her he was disappointed. He was a 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

man, however, of much resourcefulness and perse- 
verance where the opposite sex were concerned, as 
is generally the case with his stamp, and he pro- 
ceeded with not only his usually apparent placidity 
of mind and unruffled exterior, but with added 
suavity : 

“It is considerable of a rarity,” he said slowly, 
reflectively eying her, “to meet with a woman of 
talents and attainments, and a rare combination of 
common sense with it all as well.” 

“Do you then think that it is so much rarer to 
meet with these in the one sex than in the other ?” 
she asked quietly, without looking at the other. She 
had no sooner said this than she regretted her in- 
discretion in so doing. But it was a slip of the 
tongue. It seemed, after a moment’s reflection, to 
be removing some of the barrier of reserve she 
wished to maintain against the man, and which he 
was evidently trying to break down, and she felt 
much annoyed with herself. 

He did not reply immediately but looked away 
meditatively from her for a few moments. Here 
he realized an opportunity to conciliate her and 
further his own aim in not giving a direct answer 
and he seized upon it. 

“Probably it is not so much rarer in int one sex 
than in the other after all if facts were known, 
because it is rare enough in both to be a wonder. 

“However, we are apt to draw conclusions from 
our own experiences. From my own I might be 
led to believe that it is much of a rarity in your 
sex owing to my unfortunate experience with a 
woman to whom I was unfortunately bound in the 
ties of marriage; while your husband might take 
an entirely different view of the matter from his 
fortunate experience with a wife which has been 

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!A. Mother of Unborn Generations 

diametrically opposite to mine.” His manner was 
extremely mild and placid as he spoke thus and 
eyed her intently to note the effect of his words. 

To this exposition the woman remained perfect- 
ly neutral, showing neither approval nor disap- 
proval by look, word or sign. 

Though the result must have been disappointing 
to the man, nevertheless he was not discouraged 
but proceeded, his eyes rivetted upon her half avert- 
ed face. 

“Some men get women that are a continual help 
for betterment,” he declaimed waxing more elo- 
quent and dramatic in gesture and utterance as he 
proceeded, “an incentive to all that is ennobling, a 
guide that continually points the way and leads on- 
ward and upward to the highest ideals, that moves 
them to put forth great efforts in the achievement 
of lofty aims. The one I got possesses none of 
these qualities that move men for betterment and 
lofty aims. She is idle, extravagant, vain and 
frivolous. She cares for nobody but herself. Her 
own aim in life is to give nothing and take all, as 
is the manner of some of your sex. A man is ex- 
pected to continually keep her in idleness, extrava- 
gance and luxury; in fact, provide for her every 
want and get no service from her in return. And,” 
he added quietly, “I don’t think that she is such a 
rarity by any means. 

“It is to her I owe where I am to-day, the same 
as some men owe the position they occupy, away 
up the ladder, to their wives. I never had a chance 
with her, never a dog’s chance. I wish to tell you 
this” — he lowered his voice to deep impressiveness 
— “so that you might change your idea of me if 
you have concluded that I am a wastrel or a man 
lacking character or ambition.” 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

She did not reply, but maintained the same 
silence as heretofore. In fact, she showed in no 
way that she was interested in his unfolding. She 
might have been a statue for all the change of poise 
or expression of countenance she exhibited. She 
did not even rest her eyes upon the man for an 
instant but concentrated her gaze across the room 
looking into space. She might not even have heard 
for all the evidence she gave that she had. 

The man had watched her closely. At last he ap- 
peared somewhat discomfited and felt much so. 
He had been so used to his eloquence and power of 
persuasion moving the opposite sex that now in all 
this unavailing effort he began to experience con- 
siderable annoyance. He bit his lips with some 
vexation, and a cold gleam came into his fishy- 
looking eyes for a moment, which was not pleasant 
to see, as he gazed at the immovable countenance 
and form of the woman. This manner, however, 
gave way immediately to an assumed complacency 
after a brief meditative silence. 

‘T thought,” he said with some hesitancy and ap- 
parent diffidence as he moved uneasily upon his 
feet, “that you might not be uninterested to some 
extent — some little extent — in what concerns me so 
much.” 

She turned her eyes coldly upon him. 

“Why should I be interested in your affairs?” 
she asked with calm, immovable countenance and 
subdued utterance, her posture unchanged in the 
least. 

The man winced somewhat under her gaze. 

“Why should you be interested ?” he repeated. 

Then he added, hesitatingly, and in some con- 
fusion : 

“Why, I thought — that you might not be uninter- 

133 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ested to some extent in what concerns an old friend 
— ^an old acquaintance — of — of your husband and — 
and your — yourself.” There was much hesitancy 
and some emphasis on the latter words. 

The fact was now evident that the utterance had 
produced some emotion in the woman though she 
did not move her gaze nor her poise in the least. 
Her form, however, became more rigid and her 
countenance more tense. She seemed to be nerv- 
ing herself for what was further coming as if some 
heavy blow, that she could not avert, was about to 
strike her. 

The visitor noticed the change and proceeded: 

“Of course you must have a memory,” he said 
in quiet, impressive tones as he watched her nar- 
rowly; “a memory that can recall faces and inci- 
dents the same as another, as I myself, and know 
that we have met, you and I, before — before I met 
you here — here as you are now, in these surround- 
ings.” 

The blow had fallen at last. It was what she 
had been expecting for some time, and what she 
had begun to look upon as almost inevitable and 
nerved herself to withstand, though at times she 
had entertained the hope that it might be averted or 
that there might be no reason to dread its fall. 
There was no agony depicted upon her countenance 
— the agony she felt. The anguish had worn itself 
deep into her heart gradually for weeks, eating into 
her very soul, too intense and too abysmal for easy 
discernment. Now at this unfolding it was but a 
little more poignant than before. There was no 
feeling on her part that she would like to cry out 
in her agony; give vent to that anguish she felt. 
The worst had come and she now knew where she 
stood. 


134 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

The man was watching her closely, but could dis- 
cern little change in her demeanor. 

‘'You haven’t forgotten, surely ?” he asked. “You 
don’t deny it. I recalled you and where I met you 
soon after I first saw you here,” he went on, ex- 
plaining hurriedly. “I was puzzled a little at first, 
but when I heard your name — the name Annetta — 
uttered by your husband, I thought awhile and re- 
membered all ; all and where and how I met you.” 

She did not deny it; she did not deny anything. 
From space, where her gaze had wandered at his 
unfolding, she merely turned her steadfast eyes 
upon him unflinchingly. As she gazed at him the 
eyes narrowed considerably looking through the 
nearly closed lids. It might have been a look of 
defiance ; it might have been a look of one brought 
to bay ; but it betokened no fear, no particle of fear 
as it met his own. 

Her breast heaved tumultuously and her breath 
came hard and fast as she gazed at him thus in si- 
lence for a few moments her hands clasping and 
unclasping the while; then she spoke. 

“And is this what you called so often for?” she 
asked in constrained tones in which her great effort 
at self-control was clearly visible. “Did you call 
so frequently to find an opportunity in my hus- 
band’s absence to acquaint me with the knowledge 
that you knew that we had met before?” There 
was now unmistakable defiance in her eyes and 
scorn in her voice. 

The man winced under it all. “I could not refer 
to the matter in his presence,” he protested with a 
deprecative gesture of his hand and a shake of the 
head. 

This was evidently a telling stroke and the wo- 
man felt it much. She realized the truth of what 

135 




‘A Mother of Unborn Generations 

he said and was silent, silent and rigid as her gaze 
dropped. 

'‘And — and you felt it your duty to acquaint me 
of it at the first opportunity?’' she asked after a 
brief silence with some visible agitation in her 
voice; “acquaint me that you possessed a knowl- 
edge that we had previously met in a meeting you 
could not refer to in my husband’s presence?” 

“I believe you knew of it, as I did, and that the 
knowledge was mutual and consequently I thought 
a reference to it would not do any harm.” 

This was uttered in a mild, defensive tone; then 
he proceeded with warmth: “Why, my dear wo- 
man,” he cried, “I would not willingly hurt your 
feelings or pain you in any manner for the world. 
I have the utmost admiration and respect for you. 
If I had only had a wife like you,” he went on with 
increasing ardor, “my life would have been entirely 
different. In place of a failure, I would have been 
a success as your husband has been. 

“You are a woman who would elevate any man 
in aspiration and ideal — elevate and inspire him to 
any attainment and possible goal in life that could 
be reached.” 

The one addressed was silent. The praise, lavish 
praise bestowed, that would have warmed the man’s 
way into many a woman’s good graces, if not into 
her heart, fell upon unresponsive material. It was 
unappreciated and barren of the desired results. 
Censure or praise from the same source would 
have been alike in result in this instance. 

“And what is your aim — object — in acquainting 
me of all this — the knowledge that we had met be- 
fore ?” she asked in cold, deliberate tones ; “and that 
you were aware of it.” Her eyes pierced hini 
through and through as if to discern his purpose. 

136 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

'‘You must have some object in this,” she went 
on eyeing him dubiously, suspiciously. “Men gen- 
erally have an object — a selfish object — where they 
exert themselves, and especially where women are 
concerned,” 

The man shook his head deprecatingly at this im- 
putation. “I wanted to set your mind at rest,” he 
said in assuring tones; “dispel the doubts you may 
have entertained about me, which I thought you 
did by your manner ; let you know that you have a 
friend in me — a friend you could trust; that was 
all.” He put forth a grand effort to make this con- 
vincing by look, intonation of voice and emphasis 
of hand and head ; and in his supreme egotism be- 
lieved he had succeeded well when the woman re- 
mained silent and withdrew her gaze from his coun- 
tenance and her eyes sought the floor. 

From his experience with women, and his had 
been considerable, he had been led to the convic- 
tion that there was nothing so telling in gaining her 
favor as a liberal bestowal of flattery without over- 
doing it, and a bountiful declamation of protesta- 
tions of interest and regard in her welfare, no 
matter how adversely constructible this might be to 
the logical thinking mind. The logical aspect of 
the matter never entered into his consideration for 
he possessed a strong conviction that logic was an 
unknown quality with the sex and entirely beyond 
their grasp of mind. 

Now, with the belief well established in his mind, 
that he had succeeded fairishly, satisfactorily for 
the time being, he thought he would take his de- 
parture, and he immediately signified his intention 
of going, blandly excusing himself at the same 
time for taking up the other’s time as he had done. 

"Mind,” he said with an assuring look and gest- 

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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ure at leaving, as he backed toward the door with 
a reverential bow, ‘‘mind, you have a friend in me 
— a friend, a friend you can trust.’^ 

The woman did not reply by word, nor look. 
Her gaze simply searched his countenance calm- 
ly as she listened, and the same look followed his 
departing figure, without a word or move, as he 
turned and stepped away. Even after he was gone 
she stood immovable like a statue for some time. 

He was not at all discomfited. He simply mut- 
tered to himself as he strode away from the house : 
^‘Better next time.’" 


138 


CHAPTER XVII. 


It was considerable time before Hilkley Tweed- 
well succeeded again in meeting the mistress of the 
house alone. He called several times without get- 
ting even a glimpse of her. On these occasions he 
was received by the husband and by him enter- 
tained. Or if one or both of the heads of the 
house were absent, or one absent and the other in- 
disposed, as was the case occasionally, he was met 
and informed of this by the maid and seldom 
waited. 

When he called and was received by the master 
he was avoided assiduously by the mistress. In 
fact the latter had taken even to avoiding her hus- 
band much to his perplexity and trouble of mind. 

The sum of money Hilkley Tweedwell had re- 
ceived on his first visit had been augmented by 
several other liberal sums when each amount had 
been exhausted. The man had shown but little 
diffidence in letting his wants be known when it 
was money. He was profuse in his declarations, 
however, that he would liquidate the obligations at 
the earliest possible opportunity. 

John Langworth’s manner at these declarations 
showed no evidence whether he was concerned or 
not about the sums of money he was letting slip 
through his fingers. The fact was, he did not care. 
He possessed much more than was ample for his 
own and his family’s needs, and money was the 
last thing in the world that gave him deep concern, 
for parsimony and greed were entirely alien to his 
nature. 


139 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

Finally, one day the persistent caller succeeded 
in coming face to face with the person he was 
desirous of seeing. The mistress of the house was 
in the act of opening the front door and bidding 
good-by to a visitor when he reached the spot. He 
was elated at the opportunity thus offered for a 
meeting and realized with satisfaction that she 
could scarcely deny him an interview in the circum- 
stances. 

The woman did not show any evidence of 
chagrin at his appearance. She simply met him 
with a cold, formal bow as she held the door for 
him to enter. He made some movement as if he 
was extending his hand in greeting, but there was 
no responsive movement on her part. 

When they reached the reception-room she bade 
him be seated and stood facing him, but made no 
movement to seat herself. He asked about her 
husband, who was absent from home, and inquired 
solicitously about her own health. To all of his 
questions he received but the same cold, formal 
responses. He did not greatly mind this manner 
of the other, for he believed that it was to a great 
extent but an exhibition of the natural coyness of 
the sex that a little more familiarity and perse- 
verance would break through. 

He possessed unbounded confidence in himself in 
his ability to ultimately win his way into the good 
graces of any member of the sex. The few re- 
buffs he had met in his time had found but the 
briefest lodgment in his memory. The man’s co- 
lossal vanity now led him on in the conquest on 
which he had set his heart and mind. 

He had told himself time and time again that 
there were two principal ways of winning a wo- 
man, and two only, that were of any account and 
140 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

worth considering. The one and the first was to 
win her with gentle guile; the other was to win 
her with a considerable show of that aggressive 
force which was much akin to that used by primi- 
tive man except lacking any of the physical vio- 
lence. 

If she did not succumb to the former method she 
most assuredly would to the other, he had been 
wont to conclude, for he believed that the old in- 
stinctive admiration of the sex for masterly brute 
strength and domination in the other sex, inherited 
by subordination of position throughout the ages, 
was too strongly enrooted in her being to be in- 
effective. He now concluded that he would put 
the former method into operation, and if it proved 
lacking of desired results, he would ultimately in- 
ject the spirit of the latter. 

The visitor seated himself in a large, easy chair 
facing the woman and let his admiring gaze rest 
upon her in silence for a few moments. There was 
nothing extraordinary in this as any man who was 
wont to admire physical beauty might have done 
the same, for her face and form were well-nigh 
perfection and calculated to awaken some admira- 
tion. Besides, despite the settled expression of 
care and anxiety upon her countenance, there was 
a grace of intellectual charm about it with her dig- 
nity of manner that gave an interest to her appear- 
ance far beyond that evoked alone by mere physical 
charm. There was something, however, in the gaze 
that made the woman shrink from it and her de- 
portment of reserve was intensified. 

Finally the man spoke and his manner of gaze 
changed. He assumed a look of deep earnestness 
as in mild, thoughtful tones he said: ‘T was think- 
ing now what a wonderful charm there is about a 

141 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

graceful, intellectual woman — a woman that has 
infinitely more to commend her than mere physical 
charms; how she lends an indescribable attractive- 
ness to all her surroundings — an attractiveness that 
cannot otherwise be found.’' 

Despite the lack of any boldness about the man’s 
gaze and tone, that deprived the utterance of any 
ofifensiveness which otherwise might have been felt, 
nevertheless, the woman colored somewhat and 
moved uneasily while her gaze sought distant ob- 
jects. The former misunderstood this for fitting 
modesty called forth by his remarks, and believing 
he had disarmed suspicion and was gaining ground 
he proceeded in the same manner and said : 

“Not only does she lend this attractiveness to her 
inanimate surroundings, but she inspires those with 
whom she comes in contact with a desire for high 
attainments and aspirations. 

“I have to confess,” he went on with added gravity 
of voice and look, “to being much imbued lately 
with such desires and aspirations — desires and as- 
pirations to be doing as I have never felt before. 
I feel that I ought to be doing great things, and 
could be doing them.” He believed it wise not to 
make the flattery too personal 

The woman experienced more embarrassment at 
this later unfolding and showed some of her feel- 
ing in her bearing which she could not wholly dis- 
guise despite her efforts. She was not deceived in 
him, however. She formed a true estimate of the 
worth of his slightly disguised but palpable flattery 
and wondered if he really took all women for fools, 
unreasoning fools. 

Her silence and deportment encouraged him in 
his unbounded egotism to believe he was succeed- 
142 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ing well and to venture further. He bent a gaze 
of intense ardor upon her. 

“My God!” he exclaimed with vehemence, “how 
I have envied Langworth, envied him his great good 
fortune in his priceless possession of — of a superior 
woman. What could I not have done if I had been 
so blessed instead of being cursed as I have been? 
Yes, cursed!” he added with increased emphasis 
and vehemence, “with a woman whose influence 
and conduct has been stunting and — ” 

“Pardon me,” interrupted the woman coldly. 

“Pardon me,” she went on, her piercing gaze 
resting on the one addressed and her eyes and utter- 
ance bespeaking scorn, “I must be going. I have 
much to attend to. Besides” — she eyed him in si- 
lence for an instant and drew herself up to her full 
height — “this is hardly a subject to discuss to me 
in my husband’s absence. I do not desire to hear 
it, and I am sure my husband would not approve 
of it.” There was an impressive tone of quiet de- 
cision about her utterance, and a dignity about her 
bearing that left no doubt in the listener’s mind of 
the meaning of her words and the finality of her 
decision. 

A change passed over the man’s countenance. 
The expression of intense ardor that had been there 
when he gave vent to his interrupted vehement out- 
burst was replaced by one of much annoyance and 
injured vanity. He was evidently angry, very 
angry, for the time being at least, and unable to 
conceal the state of his feelings though he made a 
futile effort to do so. 

He looked at the woman coldly for a few mo- 
ments from where he sat without breaking the 
silence. Then he spoke, betraying some impatience 
and irritation: 


143 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

“Your husband would not approve of it,” he re- 
peated, his well-shaped brows knitting. 

“Your husband would not approve of the subject 
I was discussing.'’ He rose to his feet as he spoke 
drawing himself up to his full height, the magnifi- 
cent height of fully six feet of well-developed 
manhood that had found favor in the eyes of so 
many of the opposite sex. He not only experienced 
a feeling of superiority in this position to sitting, 
but felt he looked considerably more imposing to 
others, and to much more advantage and much 
more awe-inspiring. 

“Well, what if he does not?” he asked inquiringly 
as he took a step nearer the woman. 

“What if he does not?” he repeated with added 
force and a growing confidence in his position, “I 
knew you before he did. Did I not?” 

The woman drew herself up to her full height 
also. Defiantly she confronted him with flashing 
eyes and clenched hands. 

“You met me before he did; that was all. Does 
that give you any right over me to force your pres- 
ence upon me — your unwelcome presence ?” There 
was much indignation marked on her countenance, 
and much contempt in her utterance. 

The man shrank before her scornful gaze and 
indignant words, some sense of his utter contempt- 
ibleness dawning upon him. 

But his natural effrontery and callous indifference 
to right and wrong possessed him immediately, and 
with his overweening belief of his power of attrac- 
tion and power of conquest of the sex his gaze 
boldly met the woman’s. 

“You ask what right, what right have I over 
you,” he went on unabashed, executing a broad, 
sweeping gesture of the hand and raising his eye- 
144 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

brows inquiringly. “I might ask alike what is right, 
the right so-called, that would forbid and condemn 
my actions, subordinate the impulses of my heart, 
enslave the deepest and humanest of passions to its 
enthralment, stifle to convention that which is mov- 
ing and possessing my entire being? Why, it is 
nothing more than a term, a mere term, meaning a 
condition established by man often for his own sel- 
fishness and the enslavement of others, the enslave- 
ment of much that will not be enslaved 

“That which is distinguished as right and 
wrong,” he went on after a pause, growing in 
warmth as he proceeded, his eyes glittering bane- 
fully, “is often understood so simply from condi- 
tions and different understandings. One will see 
it different from another, the same as I may see it 
different from you, and which I do. What is a 
term, a mere word to me, with my feelings?” he 
asked in constrained impassioned tones. “Why, 
nothing !” he added. “My God, woman ! you might 
have been mine by the same right that gave you to 
another. That mere chance and nothing more. 

“And why should I not admire you and seek 
your presence?” 

There was an unusual vehemence in the latter 
utterance, and a boldness in his manner and gaze 
that made the woman shrink from him in some 
fear for the instant. 

Then realizing the full depth of his baseness, her 
womanly indignation rose to its highest and with 
it a fearlessness of the man and a disregard of 
what consequences her action might bring about if 
he determined to wreak his vengeance upon her, 
she confronted him with flaming eyes. 

“You had better leave my presence !” she cried in 
impassioned tones, her voice as well as her body 
I4S 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

quivering with indignation. “Your are insulting 
me as well as my husband, and I will not listen 
any longer. I will tell him of — of your conduct if 
there is any more of it.” 

The man drew near to her with a mocking ex- 
pression on his face. “You will not tell him,” he 
replied, lowering his voice impressively till it was 
scarcely audible. “ I know you will not.” He 
shook his head, thrust his face near to her and 
■smiled mockingly into her countenance. 

“Why not?” she had scarcely strength to ask the 
question, a weakness came over her so suddenly, her 
limbs bending and shaking beneath her weight as 
the man’s visage nearly touched her own. “John 
will believe me because he loves me,” she went on 
tremblingly. ‘T know he will. I’m sure he will.” 

“And he would believe me, too,” was the re- 
joinder, “believe me, too,” he added with confidence, 
“when I brought some facts to his notice. Oh, no ! 
you will not tell him; I know you will not.” He 
moved toward the door as he spoke. Then turning 
he said with a smile. “I will call again in a few 
days when you are feeling better; you are not feel- 
ing well to-day. Tell John that I called and in- 
quired for him ; that is all. Be wise and do not do 
anything that you are likely to sadly regret, for 
John, you know, though not a bad sort of a fellow, 
is an awful straight-laced Puritan, and got some 
v^ry straight-laced notions. You ought to be able 
to recall an incident of that, the first night we all 
met.” 

The woman did not reply, but looked after him 
mechanically as if in a dream as he passed out of 
the door. Then a moan bespeaking anguish, an- 
guish unutterable, burst from her lips. 


146 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


When John Langworth returned home he was 
not informed by his wife of the nature of the recent 
meeting between her and the visitor. The woman 
felt an utter helplessness about doing that which 
she had threatened. She knew in her heart that her 
utterance had been more in the nature of a threat 
than an intention. As the days passed she felt 
more and more an impotency to act the part she 
believed to be her duty in the circumstances. 

“Oh, John, John,” she murmured in her agony 
when she thought of the situation, and her utter 
helplessness, “I don’t want to deceive you in the 
least, but I cannot, cannot help it, I cannot help it. 
I ought to confide in you, I know, but I cannot in 
this matter.” 

She dreaded to meet Hilkley Tweed well, and 
though she knew she could refuse to see him again, 
and openly defy him in place of avoiding him as she 
had been doing, yet she dreaded doing so for the 
possible consequences involved. She shunned her 
husband more and more continually. She dreaded 
meeting him, and she dreaded what the next few 
days might bring forth. She dreaded the other 
man’s next visit, and yet there were times in her 
despair when she would have welcomed it to know 
the worst. 

Finally Hilkley Tweedwell called. The time of 
day was earlier than usual. The fact was evident 
that he had chosen the hour so as to avoid her hus- 
band who usually made his round of professional 
calls at that part of the day. His request to see 
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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

the mistress of the house, when he presented him- 
self at the door and learned from the maid that 
the master was absent, was in the nature of a de- 
mand. 

“Tell your mistress that I want to see her ; that I 
must see her,'' was his peremptory order. The ser- 
vant delivered the message word for word, believ- 
ing it was meant in the nature of a summons for 
medical service or advice. 

The man felt some elation when it speedily 
brought a response in the appearance of the one he 
desired to see. The method of primitive man's woo- 
ing was telling in the way of victory he told him- 
self with satisfaction. 

He greeted the woman, however, with a deferen- 
tial bow and the suavest good-morning. Now he 
believed he had let her know that he was a man 
of set will, strong in purpose and not to be trifled 
with, it was time to show the conciliatory spirit and 
encourage her to meet him half way in the same 
manner. It seemed to him that she was going to 
do this for she appeared much more humble and 
broken in spirit than on the previous meeting. 

She returned his bow with a slight inclination of 
the head, which was a considerable concession in 
comparison to her previous cold, rigid meeting and 
hostile leave taking of him. 

“You are looking much better," he remarked 
with a considerable show of earnestness. It would 
have been difficult to know on what evidence he 
based his deductions for she appeared in anything 
but a healthful and cheerful state of mind and body. 
There was a general spiritless, listless, tired, languid 
manner and expression about her. Much of the 
lustre had departed from her once clear, liquid eyes, 
and beneath them dark rings had formed bespeak- 
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A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ing sleepless nights and mind-troubled days. Her 
cheeks were pale with the paleness of the lily, 
brought on by anguish of mind rather than that 
wanness resultant of ill health. She carried herself 
with little of the supple grace and erect poise of 
body of heretofore, even though she made some 
effort. Nevertheless, despite all this there was a 
beauty of person and an ethereal attractiveness 
about her from which no untoward happenings 
could detract or dim. 

Some realization of the man’s shallow artifice at 
his remarks on her appearance brought a faint bit- 
ter smile, a pitiful fraction of a smile, to her lips. 
It could have been scarcely noticed, however, as it 
was gone in an instant. 

“The man is an arrant fool, an utter vain, sense- 
less ass as well as a knave,” she muttered inaudibly 
to herself. “He takes me to be an utter fool, a 
brainless fool as well.” 

She took a step or two nearer him, where her 
scrutinizing gaze could reach him better 

“So you demanded my presence here,” she said, 
“gave orders to my maid that you must see me.” 
There was a little of the old spirit of defiance in 
the tone of utterance, the poise of body and the 
flash of the eye as she spoke thus and looked the 
visitor in the face. 

The one addressed shook his head slowly and 
executed one of his sweeping deprecative gestures 
of the hand. “Not at all, my dear woman,” he pro- 
tested with deep emphasis on his words. “You 
mistake, greatly mistake my meaning,” he went 
on in the same manner. “I was simply very desir- 
ous of seeing you, and may in my exceeding great 
desire have been a little more than — than exactly 
formal in putting my request; making my desire 
149 


!Al Mother of Unborn Generations 

known. You know’' — he consulted her with a 
questioning look and his voice sank to a deep ten- 
derness when he proceeded — “it is not in the prov- 
ince of a humble subject, where sovereign beauty 
holds sway, to command or demand, but to request, 
humbly request. This I intended doing, but my 
ardour, zeal for the one who has enslaved me, and 
whom I would humbly serve and request so little 
in return — just a little kindness — of so much of 
which she has to give, got the better of me. For 
this I humbly beg forgiveness, for when we’re only 
mortals it is difficult to control all our mortal weak- 
nesses, especially if that particular weakness is a 
very strong one, firmly, deeply lodged in every cor- 
ner of our being, heart and soul, its conquering, con- 
suming potency outweighing all our poor reason- 
ings, the strongest weakness that has swayed man 
from the beginning of time, and the strongest that 
will sway him till the end of all things on this 
terrestrial globe.” 

As he spoke his eyes greedily snakelike had 
watched the woman closely to note the effect of his 
words — ^the changing expressions of her face, the 
heaving of her full bosom, now tumultuous, now 
gentle, the eyes now softening, now gleaming bane- 
fully, the lids narrowing with suspicion and opening 
unguardedly, the movements of the hands clenching 
and relaxing, the poise of the figure now firm and 
tense, now bending and yielding. 

He had put forth a supreme effort in bending the 
woman to his will, and believing he was succeeding, 
he stepped forward to clasp her hand. But if he 
had been less successful with women he would have 
noticed the ominous gleam in the eyes and the de- 
termined set of the jaw as he moved to execute his 
design. 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

She saw his intention and drew herself up proud- 
ly, coldly regarding him with a look of withering 
scorn, which manner discomfited him for the time 
being and he drew back. 

She was thinking how easy it would be to deal 
with him if she were a man, big and strong like her 
husband, who though scarcely so tall and so heav- 
ily built, could, she felt sure, more than match him 
in strength and pitch him into the street, which she 
knew he would do very quickly if he were present 
and learned of the other’s conduct. 

“Still a little coy,” he muttered to himself, feeling 
somewhat discomfited for a moment. Then his 
colossal self-confidence returned to him immedi- 
ately. “But it is the way of some of the sex,” was 
his consoling reflection as he drew back. “I’ll have 
to use more patience. I’ve been a little too abrupt. 
Women are not exactly all alike, though very nearly 
so. Some require a little more manoeuvering.” 
Then he said aloud to her: “I fear I have offended 
again. I had no intention of so doing. Pardon 
me, it was my usual ardour.” 

“Offended !” The woman’s voice was shrill with 
passion and indignation as she repeated the word. 
“Offended,” she went on, regarding him with flash- 
ing eyes; “why you’ve ” 

She was going to say that he had outraged and 
insulted her and her husband and desecrated their 
home by his cowardly conduct and presence. But 
realizing the utter helplessness of her position she 
became abruptly silent. 

The man took the silence as a desire to conciliate 
him at the realization of the power he held over 
her, and his low animal cunning and cowardly na- 
ture reasserted themselves immediately. 

hope I have not offended so grievously,” he 

151 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

said in his blandest manner ; ‘'and I hope you were 
not going to say something very unkind to me. For 
you know kindness begets kindness. I would not 
want to be anything but kind to you. I don’t be- 
lieve I really could be without great provocation, 
and I don’t think you will give me that provoca- 
tion.” There was a significance in his look and a 
significance in his tone as he gave voice to this lat- 
ter utterance. Then he proceeded, eyeing her nar- 
rowly and said: “If one confers favors the other 
generally repays or is expected to repay. You can 
depend upon the favor of my silence about a cer- 
tain matter if you will, but be kind, just a little 
kind.” 

The woman was intently following him in his un- 
folding, descrying, discerning, digesting the sinister 
import of his words, fully alive to the hidden depth 
of his meaning, standing like an animal at bay, her 
lids narrowed as she regarded him till her eyes 
were but two narrow openings gazing forth when 
she turned her gaze suddenly toward the window 
looking forth and an exclamation escaped her. 

“Why, John, my John !” she cried gladly, eagerly 
with partly outstretched hands. Then checking 
herself as the man’s gaze followed her own to the 
figure approaching the house up the garden path, 
she slowly left the reception room by the folding 
doors into the next apartment as a long sigh, half 
moan of anguish escaped her, and the front door 
opened and her husband entered the house and the 
room just vacated by her and occupied by the visi- 
tor. 

“Why, Langworth !” exclaimed the other in 
cheery, bland tones as he stepped forward with out- 
stretched hand, “this is indeed a busy world, a 
world of humans as busy as bees. I am here alone, 

152 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

your wife too busy to give to me more than a mo- 
ment or two of her company. And by gad, I don’t 
feel like taking more of it when I realize how pre- 
cious it must be. Now I see you look as if you 
were just as busy as she, flitting from one place to 
another, I judge from the hasty manner in which 
you came up to the house and entered. I begin to 
feel out of place and much of a drone among you.” 
He smiled good-naturedly without a particle of 
embarrassment or restraint as he looked blandly 
into the countenance of the other. 

John Langworth smiled in return as he took the 
proffered hand and listened to the man’s hurried 
jocular utterance. 

"‘Why,” he said as he went on smiling good-na- 
turedly at the visitor, “you must not mind us two. 
We’re not really so busy as we appear to be. We 
are like a good many more, we make quite a little 
fuss about what little we do. It is just our way 
and nature to be busy and we can’t help being so 
as we are, busy, apparently, busy, all the time.” And 
he went on smiling. 

Then they talked of general things, the visitor 
showing not the least evidence of any embarrass- 
ment which might have been expected in the cir- 
cumstances. In fact, the master of the house ap- 
peared less at ease than the other. 

He was somewhat restless, and rose occasionally, 
pacing backward and forward across the floor as 
he spoke and answered his companion. 

Finally, the visitor took his departure. He had 
no sooner passed out of the door when the other 
sought his wife, whom he found in her room on the 
floor above which adjoined his own apartment on 
the one side and the child’s bed and play room on 
the other. 


153 


!A. Mother of Unborn Generations 

She was sitting on a lounge facing a window that 
looked out across some stretch of grass, trees and 
foliage to the broad, shining bosom of the lake, 
sparkling in the clear warm sunshine. But her face 
was buried in her hands as he entered and she was 
apparently unaware of his presence. She might 
have been sleeping or in deep troubled thought as 
she thus sat in a recumbent manner, her elbows 
resting on her knees. 

The husband watched her for a few moments af- 
ter he stepped within the partly open doorway, and 
the expression of anxiety that had previously 
marked his countenance gave way to a look of deep 
pain and concern. He stepped quietly to the lounge 
where she sat, sank upon it by her side and passed 
his arm about her protectingly with gentle concern. 
For an instant there was some startled fear about 
her as her hands fell from her face, her eyes 
opened and she looked up into the troubled counte- 
nance gazing into her own. Then with the realiza- 
tion of the stupendous love and protecting security 
of the arms that held her, her head sank upon 
the breast of the man as the head of a weary child 
might have done, and she closed her eyes in repose. 

After a few moments' silence, the husband spoke 
as he held her thus: 

“Annetta, I came home earlier than usual," he 
murmured in scarcely audible tones, as if she might 
be sleeping and he did not wish to disturb her, “be- 
cause I was troubled somehow all morning about 
you, fearful lest you might not be well, or that 
something had happened." 

She opened her eyes and looked at him search- 
ingly. 

“You know, Annetta," he went on apologeti- 
cally, “there are times such fears, groundless fears, 

154 


A Mother of Unborn Generations ^ 

for those near and dear to us will assail us despite 
all our efforts to banish them.’" 

The woman did not answer him. Her heart was 
too full, too overflowing, of love and gratitude for 
utterance. She gazed into his eyes silently, be- 
speaking all that which she felt till her eyes were 
too dim with tears to further see and she turned her 
face away. 

‘T heard you come — saw you come,” she ex- 
plained brokenly in low tones, a sob escaping her, 
'‘and I was so glad for I was so troubled — sorely 
troubled in — in mind and body. I have not been 
well lately, John.” 

“You will be better soon,” he said with an ef- 
fort at cheerfulness he did not feel. “You’ve been 
doing too much lately, working too hard, as I told 
you long ago you were doing, and ought to give it 
up.” 

“Perhaps I will be better soon,” she replied. “If 
I could rest I would be I am sure. Perhaps I will 
be able to rest better before long, and my nerves 
will be quietened, for they trouble me so much.” 

The man’s compassionate eyes melted and soft- 
ened to added tenderness at her words as he gazed 
upon her countenance. 

“I hope so. I pray you will,” he said with much 
fervency. 

Then in silence they sat thus for a time, and as 
the silence deep and thoughtful for both continued 
unbroken the eyes of each at the same time sought 
the window and gazed across the confronting land- 
scape to the broad expanse of lake, the bosom of 
which now shone and sparkled in the unobstructed 
midday sunshine like a huge glistening mirror. 

Then the man moved reluctantly as if to rise. 

“I will have to be going,” he said with regret in 

155 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

his tones and a tender wistfulness in his gaze as he 
bent it upon the countenance and sad eyes that 
turned to meet his own. 

‘‘I have some important matters to attend to.'' 
He kissed her tenderly as he concluded and rose 
to attend to these matters. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The next day when the husband left home for 
his professional rounds his wife was in the deep- 
est thought for a considerable time. 

She seemed to be determining a matter that 
caused her much deliberation and was fraught with 
momentous consequences. She sat in her bed- 
room absorbed in it, her dark brows contracted, her 
eyes narrowed, her chin resting in the hollow of her 
hand, gazing out at the clear bright sunshine danc- 
ing on the rippling bosom of the lake, but seeing 
little of what confronted her without. A scene 
mirrored on her mental vision, conjured up by her 
engrossed thoughts, was before her vividly. It 
moved her to various emotions showing their in- 
tensity upon her mobile lineaments. 

As she sat with her eyes narrowed and her brows 
contracted, her bosom would heave tumultuously, 
her breath come hard and fast, her hand by her side 
clinch tightly and her lips compress till their bow- 
like fullness became a thin straight line. Anon she 
would sit with the calm immobility of a marble 
statue, her bosom still, her breath silent, her brow 
smooth, her eyes wide and placid and her lips soft 
and tender. She had been gazing on the water 
for a considerable time oblivious of what she was 
looking at, blind to the beauty of all her surround- 
ings and her confronting view, seeing nothing but 
the one absorbing matter that engrossed her mind 
to the exclusion of everything else. Finally, as she 
sat thus the outlines of a distant steamboat reached 
the range of her vision without her moving her gaze 

157 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

and the sight of it diverted her attention from the 
matter in her mind to the reality and beauty of the 
confronting scene. 

She gazed upon it taking in all its beauty as she 
had often done before. She saw the stretch of 
green grass and foliage reaching to the margin of 
the lake, the wide range of water shining and 
sparkling in the clear sunshine^ the great blue-gray 
dome of heaven with its deep crown of azure in 
the zenith melting away gradually in the distance 
till it met the far-off horizon in a gray streak of 
haze. As she continued to gaze upon it she re- 
called the graduation day of her husband and the 
delightful sail they had together out upon the great 
bosom of water when they were both so free from 
care, and as she did so her face softened wonder- 
fully and her eyes became moist and dim. 

They had occasionally indulged in a similar trip 
since, but none of them had left the impression 
upon her that the first had done. 

“Oh, John ! my John,” she exclaimed, “if we had 
but remained friends, comrades, companions, as 
we were that day, and as I desired we should re- 
main, or even lovers, for I would not have repulsed 
your love because I loved you so, then I could have 
told you all now, confided in you with the assur- 
ance that you would not think any the less of me. 
But I was weak, so very weak, in loving you, that 
I could deny you nothing, and you had your way 
against my wish and forebodings.” She shook her 
head in sad contemplation and a few silent tears 
bedimmed her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. 

In a few moments, however, this weakness had 
passed away. She dried her eyes and was appar- 
ently the strong woman again. The tender recall- 
ing seemed to give her strength, strength of pur- 

158 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

pose to carry out the design that she had been for- 
mulating in her mind to meet the danger that was 
threatening and encompassing her. In an instant 
more her mind was made up and her deterrnination 
taken. 

She rose from the seat she had been occupying 
and drew herself up to her full height as she looked 
out the window again and upon the fair scene con- 
fronting her. The view seemed to inspire her with 
added determination. There was little evidence 
now of the weak, nerveless woman brought to bay, 
in her countenance or poise of body. Strength and 
determination marked her face and bearing. 

She moved from the room with a firm quick step 
to her husband’s sleeping apartment and delving 
into one of the bureau drawers withdrew a shining 
revolver of medium-sized calibre. It was a weapon 
her husband had been wont to carry occasionally 
when he was called out at late hours of the night. 
The one that had been his companion during his life 
in the West was much larger and had been laid 
away for some years. She looked at it first with 
some dread as she examined it carefully to ascer- 
tain if it was fully loaded. Then realizing fully 
what potency lay in it for aiding her in her design 
she gazed upon it with some affection, mingled 
with awe. This awe disappeared entirely as she 
thought of how it had been her husband’s protector 
from danger on many an occasion, and how it was 
to protect both him and herself now, for the danger 
that menaced her menaced him equally; and she 
raised it and folded it to her breast as a mother 
might affectionately fold her babe. 

'‘Yes, kindness begets kindness, she muttered 
darkly, her brows contracting ominously. “It is 
by conferring favors that we get favors in return. 

159 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

Oh, yes; I will repay; I will repay, indeed,’' she 
cried, and she laughed bitterly, ironically as she re- 
called the words and manner of the man and his ap- 
parent self-confidence in the belief of the power he 
held over her. 

“So I can depend upon his silence if I am kind,” 
she went on in the same ironical manner. “Oh, I 
will be kind; yes, I will be kind; and he will be 
silent indeed with a silence that will be sure — sure 
and lasting; and you’ll never injure John and me; 
I’ll make sure of that.” 

She fumbled in the folds of her dress as she 
spoke, locating a small pocket and placed the instru- 
ment within. Then in silence she straightened her- 
self up, surveyed her dress with satisfaction, real- 
izing there was no visible evidence of the weapon, 
and withdrew it and replaced it in the bureau. 

As she walked away to attend to some household 
matters she appeared as if a weighty load had been 
lifted from her mind. Her appearance seemed also 
to lift a load off her husband’s mind when he re- 
turned. He thought he had not seen her looking so 
well for quite a while, and he was even moved to 
joke with her as of old, and playfully chide her oc- 
casionally. 

As the days passed the manner of the woman 
never changed and the resolution formulated by her 
never weakened. There were occasions, however, 
when some expression of dread overcast her counte- 
nance when the door-bell rang, but in an instant it 
gave way to a look of determination she felt pos- 
sessed her to meet the impending crisis. Time and 
time again when she heard the door-bell ring and 
she listened with fast beating heart for the sound of 
a voice that would acquaint her that the momen- 
tous time for action had arrived was she disil- 
i6o 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

lusioned and the realization of a further respite 
from action brought no change in her demeanqr, 
no evidence of relief or disappointment did she 
show. There were occasions, however, when she 
felt she would welcome the meeting that was to 
bring about the end and terminate the suspense that 
she feared might possibly weaken her somewhat in 
her resolution if the suspense lasted long. 

Occasionally, as days passed and the man did 
not come she wondered if he could have gone away 
never to darken her door again. There was a pos- 
sibility in this for he might not be so entirely in- 
human and devoid of manhood and pity as he 
seemed. It appeared at first too good for possi- 
bility, but as the duration of time since his pre- 
vious visit widened beyond any similar period of 
his absence, the possibility of its likelihood became 
more apparent. Nevertheless, she did not build her 
mind up on this for she had formulated a philoso- 
phy to the effect that it is best to look for the worst 
while hoping for the best, for the worst will most 
likely happen. 

In this she was not mistaken for one day at the 
usual early part of the forenoon when her husband 
was absent as was his custom the familiar doorbell 
rang and as she listened from the top of the stair- 
way she heard the well-known voice of Hilkley 
Tweedwell inquiring of the maid if either the mis- 
tress or the master of the house was at home, 
and the reply that the former was. Then as she 
heard her name and the man’s answer that he 
wished to see her she realized that the time for 
action had come, the hour when she would rid her- 
self of the menace to the continued peace of her 
home and the endangerment to the lasting love of 
her husband. 

i6i 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

She returned to her room and attended briefly to 
finishing her toilet. When she had accomplished 
this she looked out at the lake which showed dull 
and leaden under a threatening sky of black and 
gray clouds. The elements had been threatening 
all the morning. The sun had made some early but 
ineffectual attempts at shining, the rain at descend- 
ing and the wind at blowing. But, after a few faint 
sickly beams of the former had reached the earth, 
and a few drops of rain had pattered down upon 
the foliage and ground for a few moments accom- 
panied by an abortive attempt of the wind to stir 
the foliage and the dust of the road they all seemed 
if they were content to remain quiescent for the 
time being. 

The woman stood a few minutes gazing out the 
window, but seeing little confronting her. Her 
mind was on the one engrossing subject, the coming 
interview with the visitor. As she stood looking out 
the sound of the outside world came faintly to her 
ears. She heard the noise of distant traffic and the 
chirping of the nearby feathered tribe; and fainter 
still were the inclosed sounds of domesticity — the 
audibility of the housemaids going about their daily 
duties and the prattle of the child amid her play- 
things. 

The latter sound caught the woman’s ears hold- 
ing her attention for a time during which her face 
softened wonderfully and she murmured some in- 
audible endearing words. Then stifling her wom- 
an’s feelings she hurriedly left the room, sought 
her husband’s apartment, slipped the little shining 
instrument within the folds of her dress and be- 
gan her descent of the stairs. 


162 


CHAPTER XX. 


As the mistress of the house descended the stair- 
way to meet the visitor there was little in her ap- 
pearance and manner betokening that the meeting 
about to take place was fraught with more than or- 
dinary importance, and in the nature of a crisis in 
her affairs. 

Her heart beat but a little faster than was its 
wont, her eyes were but a trifle brighter than usual, 
her mouth somewhat more firmly set and her breath 
came and went with slightly increased rapidity. 
Otherwise she might have been bent on an ordinary 
everyday interview. About her as she moved along 
was much evidence of self-control and quiet dignity 
of bearing. 

When she reached the reception room and the 
man’s presence she merely inclined her head slightly 
in a careless manner to his salutation of good morn- 
ing and his low deferential bow. She scarcely 
seemed to look at him, almost entirely ignored his 
presence as she gazed about the apartment and out 
the curtain-shaded window, toward which she 
slowly moved, through which the dim light of the 
dull day filtered, casting dun shadows about ob- 
jects, as he stood facing her, his eyes rivetted upon 
her, drinking in greedily all her womanly beauty. 
As she gazed a huge cloud of dust was swept along 
the confronting avenue carried impetuously by a 
sudden gust of wind that bent the environing trees 
and foliage with its impelling force, the reflected 
shadows of the cloud adding gloom to the room for 
an instant. 


163 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

'‘A storm is coming, the man remarked. 

The woman might not have heard his utterance 
for all the notice she took of it. She continued to 
gaze in the same direction without turning to her 
companion or moving her position in the least. With 
her immovable countenance, her manner of indiffer- 
ence and her hands resting calmly one on the other 
in front of her, she looked a picture of placidity. 
Finally, after a few moments’ quiet she spoke : 

'‘There was so considerable a time between your 
last visit and this,” was her comment in quiet ac- 
cents still looking out the window, “that I began to 
think — think you had decided not to come again, 
and ” 

“And you — you missed me?” he cried eagerly, 
triumphantly, his stupendous vanity rising supreme, 
believing for the time being that at last he had made 
the inroad through her armour of reserve and cold- 
ness that he had been trying to make so long; 
“missed me because I was absent so long? I ” 

“And I began to think there was a possibility that 
you were going to play the part of a man,” she went 
on somewhat louder after the instant pause and in- 
terruption as if she had not heard him or been in- 
terrupted, still gazing out the window and never 
casting a glance toward the one addressed; “play 
the part of a man and realize the cowardly part you 
had been playing in your persecution of me, and 
remain away as any man with any principle would 
do, and never darken my door again.” As she con- 
cluded, her eyes calmly searched his countenance 
for an instant. 

The man’s face fell at the realization of the great 
mistake he had made and he winced under the lash 
of her words. A perceptible flush of anger and 
shame for an instant suffused his face till he recov- 
164 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ered his customary sang froid manner which he did 
in a few moments. He was thoroughly indurated 
in mind and body and callous to the darts that 
would have pierced another through and through, 
but which merely pricked his armour lightly on the 
surface, which was nearly all that happened in this 
instance, for the injury to his vanity was healed 
quickly. 

When he digested the full import of her words 
for the fraction of a minute he laughed aloud at the 
idea that she had been foolish enough to entertain, 
and he rivetted his eyes boldly upon her counte- 
nance. 

'‘Leave you, and remain away, and never darken 
your door ?” he asked ironically with slow delibera- 
tion and questioning nods, still laughing. “Oh, no ! 
oh, no!’’ he went on in the same manner with the 
same risibility. “I’ll go on playing the same manly 
part that I haveibeen playing, devoting much atten- 
tion to female beauty and attractions. The sex 
generally looks for that and expects it. It is natu- 
lal for men to be the pursuer and women the pur- 
sued. It has been so since the beginning and will 
be so until the end. It is natural for her to be coy 
and reserved and for him to be aggressive and bold ; 
and whether the aggressiveness and boldness be in 
the manner of the latest high-class society methods, 
or in that of the most primitive man it is generally 
effective, appreciated or victorious in the long run 
if one keeps long enough at it; there is no fear of 
its being otherwise.” 

The woman now looked at him coldly, defiantly 
and a dangerous gleam appeared in her eyes. If 
the man had known what it signified his cowardly 
heart would have quailed as it had never done be- 
fore. 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

'‘Do you not fear to go too far?” she asked de- 
liberately in a warning manner, meaning to apprise 
him of some danger he incurred. 

The only reply . she received was a mocking 
laugh, a shake of the head and a look of effrontery. 

She did not change her manner one whit, but con- 
tinued to eye him coldly, warningly. 

“Do you wish more money than you have already 
gotten from my husband?” she went on with un- 
usually deep deliberate emphasis on her words. “It 
might not be beneath your manly nature to take it 
from a woman. Blackmailing, I would think, should 
be one of the callings of a gentleman of your 
stamp.” There was not only scorn and contempt 
ill her look, but in her every word and gesture. 

She now desired to make him menacing in a 
very aggressive manner so as to nerve her for the 
part she was to play. It seemed that she had suc- 
ceeded to a considerable extent, for he was quick'to 
deny the imputation. 

“Oh, no!” he cried with spirit. “I do not want 
money. What I have gotten I will pay back — pay 
back as soon as I can. It is you — you I want,” he 
went on impassionately ; “you who have all along 
disdained me ; you who have refused me your hand 
all along since I first met you here. But I will 
hold your hand, yes, hold you in my arms, too, 
and — and kiss your lips, too, if I like. You will 
not deny me that because you cannot deny me any- 
thing if I choose to enforce my claim.” He regard- 
ed her boldly through the gathering gloom of the 
room that was continually becoming more intensi- 
fied from the darkening threatening sky without, as 
he uttered the threats, and even drew a step or two 
menacingly nearer her. 

i66 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

He was much more boastful and menacing than 
she had looked for or expected. 

She drew herself up, facing him with flashing 
eyes and clenched hands. “You never will,’’ she 
cried, her voice shrill and defiant. “No, you never 
will.” 

As she spoke her hand sought the fold at the 
side of her dress and touched the hard metallic 
instrument hidden therein. She felt nerved at the 
time to do anything. She felt she could have killed 
the man with no more compunction than she could 
have crushed some small crawling reptile or insect 
under her foot. As the moments fled she wondered 
how she had not done it and did not do it still. It 
was not any feeling of compassion for the wretch 
that withheld her, or the fear of the remorse the 
act would bring to her, or even the dread of any 
punishment of the law, for all these she had con- 
sidered fully. She knew that some women had 
killed men for no more cause and their needs had 
been acclaimed by the world as heroic. She felt she 
would be doing only that which circumstances com- 
pelled her, and she would be wreaking richly de- 
served punishment upon the offender. 

The man’s bold eyes quailed at her gaze and 
manner and he drew back a little. 

“Some men have lost their lives for no worse 
offence than yours,” she cried warningly, her gleam- 
ing eyes regarding him steadfastly under knitted 
brows. 

“I shall not lose mine,” he rejoined with a show 
of self-confidence. 

“Don’t be too sure.” She calmly eyed him and 
spoke in a low voice that was in marked contrast 
to her previous deportment of wrath and disdain. 
She was entirely indifferent to the man in this in- 
167 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

stance, feeling a confidence that she held him in the 
hollow of her hand. 

“I am sure in this case that you will say nothing 
to John about the matter; you dare not, you can- 
not!’' The man emphasized his utterance with 
stress of voice, gestures of hand and head that be- 
spoke the utmost confidence. It seemed as if his 
very manner was leading him on to the crisis that 
menaced him, and the dangerous brink, for the 
calmness of the woman was equally as dangerous, 
if not more so than her previous visible wrath had 
been if he had only known. But the expression of 
each face was hidden much from the other in the 
encompassing gloom of the room. 

He was beginning to frame more words upon his 
lips of the previous nature to emphasize the confi- 
dence he felt in his position, when the storm that 
had been heralded by gradually growing darkness 
and forceful gusts of wind, now burst suddenly in 
all its wrath in torrential downpours of rain that 
beat upon the ground and foliage impelled violently 
thither by the onward sweep of the irresistible gusts 
of wind tearing, driving and hurling itself through 
the trees and along the avenue, bending and rend- 
ing the branches and scattering the leaves upon the 
ground, carrying them swirling, fluttering, along 
the roadway. Its extreme great violence was of 
short duration, however, for in a few minutes the 
storm assumed a more moderate aspect, with les- 
sening downpour of rain and diminishing violence 
of wind. These latter moderate manifestations con- 
tinued as if they had set in to last some considerable 
time. 

The two figures in the room stood regarding the 
storm in silence when it burst and was at its 
height, neither uttering a word, each occupied deep- 
168 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ly for the instant in thought and in contemplation 
of the wrath of the elements. 

Now the woman spoke in a low warning voice, 
breaking this silence maintained by each that the 
interrupting violent outburst of the elements had 
brought about. 

“Do not be too sure. Do not make the mistake 
that it is only men who can avenge a wrong/' she 
went on quietly with set, determined face. “Wom- 
en have avenged wrongs before now.’' 

In the gloom she could not see the other’s coun- 
tenance plainly and note the effect her words had 
upon him. She felt she would rather warn him of a 
danger impending from another quarter before it 
fell — a danger she was convinced would fall soon 
when the further provocation for delivering it was 
given. When this was given, she now made up her 
mind, her vengeance would fall without failure and 
without further delay, and she nerved herself for 
the crisis. 

A sardonic grin of confidence was the man’s re 
ply to her warning, and he was framing some retort 
in accordance with his feelings when she proceeded 
without giving him a chance to answer. 

“A man is the stronger and proper being for 
wreaking vengeance,” she went on in her previous 
quiet manner, “but a woman when she is driven to 
corner will ” 

Her further utterance was interrupted by a vio- 
lent gust of wind bursting in the hallway, sweeping 
through the partly open doorway dividing them 
from that outer section of the house. It was ad- 
mitted by the opening of the front door and the 
entrance of someone herein. In a moment, before 
they could collect their thoughts, the outer door 
was closed, closing out the violence of the storm, 
169 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

and John Langworth stood within the entrance of 
the reception room with a dripping umbrella in one 
hand, his hat in the other and the rain running from 
his storm drenched garments. 

He gazed about for a moment or two just dis- 
cerning those present, his eyes taking some time to 
become accustomed to the gloom of the room and 
not recognizing the man in the glance. 

Meantime, the other two had been collecting their 
thoughts and recovering from the surprise of the 
sudden apparition. The woman was the first to 
achieve this. As she did so, her mind was made up 
in an instant and her determination taken on a cer- 
tain course of action she was to follow in the cir- 
cumstances. 

'‘John, John, you’re wet,’^ she cried solicitously, 
drawing near him. “You ought to change your 
clothes.” Besides the agitation that moved her 
there was a low sadness in her voice and a wistful- 
ness in her eyes different to her usual cheerful 
greeting, or attempt at this, which he noticed im- 
mediately, and it gave him some concern. 

“It is of no consequence,” was his reply. “The 
rain is a warm one ; it will not hurt. It came down 
in such torrents for a minute or two that the um- 
brella was of little use.” While he spoke he turned 
and deposited his umbrella in the receptacle in the 
hall and hung his hat up. 

Hilkley Tweedwell seemed to take his cue from 
the woman’s actions and when the husband turned 
and faced them again, he advanced with out- 
stretched hand in greeting. 

“How are you, Langworth?” he cried in affable 
cheery tones. “The elements are certainly unpro- 
pitious for those who have to be about outside.” 
170 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

There was no evidence in the man’s bearing or voice 
of embarrassment or constraint. 

The woman had been prepared for some of this, 
but not for so much unabashed aifrontery, and with 
flashing eyes and indignant mien she sprang be- 
tween the two men, her hand raised guardingly to 
bar the way of the advancing form of the visitor. 

“Don’t touch his hand, John — his loathsome 
hand,” she cried in shrill warning accents, “there’s 
pollution in it, in his vile touch.” Then she turned 
from her husband to the offender. “You scoundrel, 
you low, hypocritical cur,’' she went on facing him 
now beside herself with indignation. “How dare 
you play such a part — ^such a hypocritical villainous 
part with my husband before me, before my very 
eyes, after insulting me so, and expect I am to be 
a silent witness and conniver of it?” 

Hilkley Tweedwell came to a sudden stop, his 
whole faculties paralyzed for the time being, un- 
able to articulate, to move or to think, his craven 
heart sinking within him like a lump of lead, his 
knees weakening and trembling, all his previous 
boldness and sang froid debonnair suavity, that he 
was so wont to exercise on the unsuspecting and de- 
fenseless, vanishing in an instant, leaving him as 
inert and helpless as an infant. It was the last 
happening he had expected and the last for which 
he had been prepared. He had felt as great a se- 
curity from any untoward revelations of his repre- 
hensible conduct as any man could have felt who 
was the sole holder of the secret securely infolded 
within himself. He had believed the woman ut- 
terly helpless to open her mouth on the matter ; too 
much cowed in fearing a further revelation, that 
she would do anything to keep from her husband 
the revealing that had now been made. 

171 


A Mother of .Unborn Generations 

John Langworth was almost as much surprised. 
For a few moments he stood paralyzed in action 
and thought, rooted to the spot, his eyes wide ope4 
in astonishment, staring at the confronting forms, 
hardly comprehending for a time. For a moment 
when he could reason, the suggestion that his wife 
was bereft of her sanity entered his mind. How- 
ever, there was too much righteous indignation, too 
much impressibility stamped upon her countenance 
and in her manner for him to entertain this hy- 
pothesis for more than an instant, and in an instant 
it was gone. 

When Hilkley Tweedwell began to recover him- 
self, which he did gradually, after the first stunning 
momentary surprise had passed away, this same 
idea entered his head. He thought she might pos- 
sibly have been suddenly deprived of her right 
mind. It was the only way he could account for her 
action that might bring about an exposure of the 
matter she had been so desirous of guarding from 
her husband’s knowledge. He had never possessed 
much faith in woman’s loyalty to her wedded mate, 
and to the idea that duty would impel her to make 
a revelation against her interest and desire. With 
the former idea in his mind he seized upon it, when 
he could gather his faculties, to clear himself in the 
husband’s eyes. 

He raised his hands protestingly. 

“My God, Langworth!” he cried imploringly, 
“your wife must have lost her reason ;gone suddenly 
mad; become subject to hallucinations. I insult 
her, I insult her — never ! Never would I be guilty 
of such!” 

As he went on protesting, he assumed an appear- 
ance of puzzled scrutiny of the woman and injured 
innocence of himself. Then paused, shaking his 
172 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

head with impressive deliberation, looking from 
one to the other, but meeting the gaze of either only 
momentarily, the light of the room now showing 
the confronting countenances more plainly from the 
lessening darkness without. 

This denial but added to the woman’s scorn and 
indignation which had been far from exhausted at 
the conclusion of her outburst, for she had stood 
confronting the offender, her whole manner and at- 
titude bespeaking the utmost contempt and indigna- 
tion when her voice had ceased to give utterance to 
the feelings that moved her. 

Now at this imputation she proceeded with none 
the less feeling of indignation. 

“The man’s an arrant knave, an utter scoundrel 
as well as a thorough coward at heart,” she cried. 
“He is good at threatening a woman — holding over 
her head, her weak head, a threat of exposure to 
gain his ends. But in a man’s presence he denies 
it all — makes himself out a liar as well to escape 
the consequences.” As she spoke she turned at 
intervals from her husband to the other with a ges- 
ture of contempt and a look of withering scorn. 

Hilkley Tweedwell cared little now for the scorn 
of the woman’s utterance, the bitterness of her 
words that held him up so unmercifully to con- 
tempt. It was the position in which he found him- 
self that gave him so much concern and made him 
cower and shrink within himself. 

All he tried for was to restrain her from further 
revelations, and illusion the husband on what had 
already been unfolded. With this intention he pro- 
ceeded instantly : 

“You mistake — mistake my intentions, my mo- 
tives,” he protested in broken hurried utterances, 
his heart quaking and his limbs shaking with fear, 

173 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

his dread of consequences lending speed to his 
tongue. 

“It is all a mistake, a great mistake, a misinter- 
pretation of my intentions,” he hurried on appeal- 
ingly turning to the man when he realized the inef- 
fectiveness of his words on the woman. 

“Did you not threaten me with exposure?” the 
the latter asked with impassioned force of utter- 
ance and gesture, her agonized countenance be- 
speaking the full depth of despair she felt. 

As she spoke, the man’s hands were raised im- 
ploringly, protestingly, his head shaking warningly 
for her to desist. But heeding him not she went on 
and said : 

“Did you not approach me time and time again 
with covert threats? Did you not say that ” 

“No, no!” he interrupted, drowning her voice. 
“It’s all a mistake, all a mistake, you’re laboring un- 
der. It’s a delusion of the mind; some hallucina- 
tion.” 

He could not understand how useless all his ef- 
forts were now in arresting the impending disclos- 
ures she seemed determined on unfolding to her 
husband. In her long dread and agony to avoid 
this, and uncertainty in which she had been living 
the past few weeks with the possibility of the dis- 
closures she had passed through her valley of Hin- 
nom and was so tired, seared and scorched with 
pain and suffering in the ordeal that she could not 
now conceive of any worse suffering befalling her 
than she had already endured, and she was pre- 
pared for anything. 

Her husband held his hand up before the man 
to enjoin silence, to allow her to proceed. His de- 
portment was stern and constrainedly quiet. He had 

174 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ilot spoken since he entered the house and reierred 
lightly to his drenched condition. 

Thus ensured from interruption, she proceeded, 
‘‘John, John,’’ she cried, her hands stretched to- 
ward him appealingly as was her gaze, “what I am 
going to tell you now I withheld from you only be- 
cause of the pain — pain and suffering the knowl- 
edge of it would cause you, not that I wanted to de- 
ceive you in the least. I would not have deceived 
you for the world if there had been any way of 
avoiding doing so.” Anguish and despair marked 
her countenance, and her voice sounded like a long 
wail of agony. 

“Unknown to you, John, but — ^but known to this 
man,” she went on brokenly, in agonizing gasps, 
moving her eyes from the countenance of the one 
addressed, past his form, to the distant confines of 
the room, piercing the gloom there and her mind 
resurrecting a far distant scene across a long span 
of years, “we met, you — you and I, many years 
ago.” Mutely her eyes met his appealingly for an 
instant. 

The cloud on the brow of the husband darkened, 
his eyebrows contracted, meeting in a strained puz- 
zled expression, his breath came hard and fast, but 
he did not speak. In fact, he was so surprised and 
dazed at the unfolding that he did not know for 
sure whether he heard aright for the time being. 
All he could do was to gaze fixedly at his wife. 

The other man stood rooted to the spot seemingly 
unable to move or articulate any more, his eyes 
wildly scanning one countenance and the other, al- 
ternating chills and flushes of heat passing through 
his trembling body. In the passing moments, how- 
ever, he tried to pull himself together, and stood 
sullen and dejected with an effort at a deportment 

175 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

of defiance, his gaze wandering from the faces of 
the others to the doorway beyond the confines of 
which he wished he was past. But the form of 
the master of the house blocked the way to the 
aperture, and his eyes turned away. 

'‘It — it was a night long — long ago,” she proceed- 
ed with the same voice and look of anguish, again 
gazing past the man’s form into space, but more 
brokenly in utterance. “It was in a New York City 
resort — an amusement place, that — that I had al- 
ways wished to forget. A night you will recall if 
you think. Then I met” — she ventured an affright- 
ed look of agony at the one addressed — “my late 
husband and you and this man. I — I said some- 
thing jokingly at the time about our — our meeting 
again, if you can recall. Some strange fate seemed 
to destine it so — destine it that we should meet 
again, the same as some strange fate seemed to des- 
tine that this evil man should come and work my 
undoing.” 

Shrinkingly she stood before her husband, her 
hands moving appealingly toward him as she spoke, 
or opening and clenching in despair. Every look 
and gesture was pregnant of the utmost pain and 
suffering, and every word she uttered bespoke the 
deepest anguish. 

Speechless, John Langworth followed his wife 
in her explanation, the look in his burning eyes riv- 
etted upon her agonized countenance, alternating 
time and again from an expression of puzzled scru- 
tiny to a blank stare. For a time as she proceeded 
he was scarcely able to grasp the import of her 
words and meaning, hardly conscious that he was 
in his wakened senses, that he heard aright, and 
that it might not be some strange fantasy of the 
mind, or some hallucinating dream of sleep. Then 
176 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

as she went on and he began to catch the import 
of her utterance, and out of the mist of years 
loomed the scene her words resurrected to his 
mind, and it grew in vividness, his form became 
strained and rigid, his hands clenched and immov- 
able, his mind like his body strained to the utmost, 
his breath withheld in the intensity of his emotions, 
his eyes wide and staring at his wife. 

The scene of the concert garden rose before him 
gradually until he saw it vividly as when he was 
there of yore himself. He heard the voices in song 
again, and heard the instrumental music; saw the 
glittering lights, the tawdry surroundings in decora- 
tions and in animated beings ; heard the clinking of 
glasses and saw the smoking, drinking throng gath- 
ered about. The forms of his two student com- 
panions stood before him and he heard their gibes 
once more. Then again he saw them join the strange 
women, and heard the utterance of the youngest of 
the latter as with painted face and dyed hair she 
passed before him at departure and called him “JO" 
seph,’’ and heard her inane giggle. 

At this his eyes wandered from his wife’s coun- 
tenance into space for an instant and back, and 
as they rivetted themselves again upon her counte- 
nance he gave a gasp — a long plainly audible gasp 
— ^his pent-up breath bursting forth in an unre- 
strainable gush. His lips moved in an effort to 
utter 5ome word, but his tongue failed to articulate. 
Annetta was the name his surprised mind tried 
to form upon his lips, but in his first full realization 
that this woman and his wife were the same his 
tongue was paralyzed and his voice dumb. 

The woman gazed for a moment or two with af- 
frighted eyes at her husband. John, I 

wished to tell you long ago,” she said in appealing 
177 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

tones. “But I could not, I could not. I wanted to 
tell you before our marriage, but I could not do so. 
I was weak and loved you so; you were so strong 
and determined and would have your way. I let 
my love overmaster that which I thought was my 
duty and right, and bowed to your will. It is this 
matter that his man has been holding over my 
head — holding over my head and terrorizing me all 
these weeks.” 

The husband gazed around in bewildered silence 
for a few moments. Then, when he turned to his 
wife he seemed to have gathered his faculties and 
natural self-control. 

“What was it he wanted?” he inquired in deep 
hoarse tones ; “was it money — more money than he 
had already got ?” 

The woman shook her head, then turned away 
from the questioning gaze. 

He needed no further explanation. The truth 
flashed upon his mind instantly, and his gaze rested 
upon the man, dark set and threatening, a luminous 
fire burning between his narrowed lids. He never 
moved his burning eyes from the craven man’s 
countenance, drinking in every feature with set 
jaws and clenched hands, his breath coming hard 
and fast he faced the offender. 

“So this is the way you pay for favors con- 
ferred?” he asked of the cowering wretch. There 
was a strange, low, ominous calm in his utterance 
that sent a chill through the craven heart of the 
one addressed, and his gaze fell to the floor. He 
appeared to thoroughly collapse as if he could hard- 
ly hold himself together, his knees shook, and his 
very teeth chattered audibly. He believed ven- 
geance was coming sure and swift. 

The master of the house eyed the cowering 

178 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

wretch in silence for a few moments, a mingling 
feeling of contempt and indignation moving his 
being. 

“Do not cower like that, man,’" he said in spirited 
tones ; “this is not the West where the frontier laws 
prevail and merited vengeance is meted oyt indi- 
vidually. Look up, man, and tell me about this. 
Make some excuse at least — some palliating ex- 
cuse for your conduct. You have been bold — very 
bold in dealing with a woman it appears — bold in 
insulting her. Be a little consistent and show some 
of this boldness before a man, before her husband. 
I am only a man, one man the same as yourself, of 
flesh, blood and bone.” 

Hilkley Tweedwell did not take courage nor did 
his manner change under this fire of words and 
taunts, for taunts they became, bespeaking much 
irony and contempt as the indignant husband pro- 
ceeded. He returned the same cowering spiritless, 
nerveless demeanor, apparently in a state of col- 
lapse, uttering not a word in defence. Once or twice 
his eyes met the others, but he showed no spirit 
there, and his lips essayed some movement, but he 
did not speak. A helpless, hopeless blank look of 
fear marked his countenance. 

The woman was silent as she gazed at the craven. 
She was comparing his previous bold manner to her 
with his deportment now. 

“The man is a craven, an utter coward as I 
thought,” she muttered inaudibly to herself. “I 
believe he would crawl and grovel upon the ground 
to a strong man that he feared.” 

After a strained silence of a few moments more 
John Langworth spoke: 

“Some men would wreak vengeance upon you for 
what you have done, but I will not. There are sev- 
179 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

eral reasons probably why I do not do so. You 
may judge some of them, and thank your luck that 
I consider such matters. You have often said that 
you never had a chance. Well, this will be one 
chance that you have had that you did not de- 
serve.” 

Though the husband’s utterance now bespoke 
nothing ominous or threatening, nevertheless his 
aspect was none the less forbidding. His eye bore 
a dangerous gleam, his voice carried an ominous 
ring and there was much danger bespoken in the set 
of his jaw. 

''You may go,” he said still blocking the doorway 
with his form. "You can take your worthless life 
with you, your dirty putrid soul. I saved it on that 
stormy night, partly at the risk of my own. But if 
I had known then what carrion I was dragging to 
the shore, the tide would have carried it down for 
food for the fishes, which it would have been if 
not for me. You can go and never darken my door 
again.” He moved aside and pointed to the exit. 
"And never cross my path again if you can help it, 
for I do not know what the consequences might be 
if I met you in the western country where I met you 
before.” 

Hilkley Tweedwell made no answer. He simply 
bowed his head without looking at either, or to the 
right or to the left. He took his hat and moved 
toward the exit with slouching hesitancy, not look- 
ing up once. With bent head he passed through the 
hall, opened the door, meeting a violent gust of wind 
and rain, passed out into the storm closing the door 
and was gone. 

The husband and wife stood immovably still till 
the other was gone, neither deigning him a look as 
he passed, their gaze fixed upon space, neither ut- 
i8o 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

tering a word, the man still feeling somewhat as if 
in a dream, the woman’s faculties clear and alert 
to the reality of all the happenings. Then when 
they were alone they turned and looked at each 
other in the same silence, their countenances 
strained and set. As they gazed at each other the 
man’s face softened wonderfully. 

'‘Come, Annetta, my wife,” he said in quiet tones 
approaching the one addressed and placing his arm 
shelteringly about her. "Come, you do not look 
well. You are very tired I know. Come to your 
room and rest ; you need it much ; you will be much 
better there.” 

She did not answer, but looked up wistfully at 
her husband, and he led her away. 


i8i 


CHAPTER XXL 


“You look tired too, John,” the woman mur- 
mured, eying her husband with deep concern, after 
he had led her to the lounge in her room, seated 
himself in a chair facing her and she was resting 
easily in a reclining position. 

The gray light from a leaden sky filtering through 
an atmosphere of incessant moderate rain was pene- 
trating the windows less obstructedly than in the 
apartment they had left below, falling with greater 
clearness upon objects, showing the man’s counte- 
nance much more deeply lined and its aspect much 
more worn than she had ever seen it before. As 
she fully noted his appearance a great anguish well- 
ed in her heart, filling her being with the deepest 
pity for the suffering man. 

The husband did not reply to the remark on his 
appearance. He was trying to fully collect his 
thoughts, to grasp the import of all that had been 
revealed to him in the recent meeting below. It all 
seemed more like some great hideous, fantastic 
dream than reality; all that had been made known 
to him of the treachery of the man he had thought 
a friend, and whom he had befriended and aided so* 
well, and the extraordinary unfoldings about his" 
wife’s past. 

The latter was the most difficult to grasp of all. 
Thoughts of it, and recallings of what had been un- 
folded to him flitted through his mind confusedly. 
His gaze wandered about his wife’s countenance 
searchingly, curiously to find in it the full confir- 
mation of her story, though he was never wont to 
182 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

doubt a word she said, and did not doubt in this 
instance. As he drank in every lineament of her 
countenance, every expression of her mobile face, 
every changing look of her steadfast eye, he failed 
to recall any resemblance to the form and counte- 
nance of the woman of the brief meeting of the 
years ago, with the light dyed hair, the light laugh- 
ter and still lighter inane giggle that accompanied 
her jesting manner to him when she spoke and 
called him Joseph. 

The wife read much of what was passing in his 
mind and moved uneasily under his scrutiny. Her 
face hardened and a look of some defiance came 
into her eyes for an instant. 

“For heaven's sake, John," she cried, in a thin 
shrill voice, as she rose to a sitting position, “do not 
look at me like that! Say something, for heaven's 
sake ! Reproach me if you will, but say something.” 
She looked imploring at him as she concluded, her 
hands moving entreatingly toward him. 

The man’s calm eyes opened with some surprise 
at the outburst. 

“Reproach you?” he asked, slowly in quiet tones, 
gazing sadly with a wistful look of puzzled inquiry 
into her eyes, “Why, how could I reproach you? 
What could I reproach you for?” He shook his 
head as he gazed sorrowfully at her in silence for 
a few moments. “I was simply puzzled,” he went 
on to explain in the same quiet manner, “simply 
puzzled at it all, and it is even yet somewhat hard 
for me to realize it all and fully understand.” 

The woman's face softened as she listened to this 
explanation, and the look she returned bespoke 
some of the gratitude she felt. Then she gazed at 
him in silence for some time, her countenance im- 
movable. She was not only trying to divine much 

183 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

of what was passing in his mind, but was deeply 
engaged gathering her own thoughts upon some 
matter. She seemed as if she had accomplished the 
latter. At this her deportment changed and her 
face became more set. 

She sat a few feet from her husband, her hands 
resting upon her knees, her gaze now turned away 
from him, looking into space, not a muscle of her 
form moving, not even an eyelid, as perfectly mo- 
tionless as a statue. Her posture, however, was 
that of relaxation rather than rigidity. Only her 
face bespoke chiselled setness of inanimate marble. 
There was nothing in her bearing or expression of 
countenance bespeaking despair — ^biack despair of 
one beaten and worsted in life’s struggle, crushed 
under the weight of the misfortune that had pur- 
sued her and fallen so mercilessly — but rather that 
which betokened a resigned bowing to the workings 
of fate, fate that had been so inexorable, cruel, piti- 
less, relentless. Her mouth was set in its custom- 
ary contour, her broad forehead was smooth and 
placid between the halo of dark hair and arched 
brows. There was much quiet dignity in her poise, 
even some pride, and at times a manner of defiance. 
It was only in her mobile dark eyes, turned away 
from the man, that some of the pain that moved 
her could be descried — that agonizing pain that was 
cruel and crushing. 

At last she turned to the man as if to speak, her 
lips moving, moistening themselves in preparation, 
her eyes resting calmly upon his countenance. The 
husband met her gaze frankly, his sympathetic look 
encouraging her. 

Then she spoke, her voice low and deliberate,' her 
dark eyes at intervals moving from his countenance 
to the furtherest confines of the room, their strained 
184 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

gaze of intensity and the sometimes knitting brows 
bespeaking the emotions that moved her and her 
efforts at self-control, the control she gained as she 
proceeded. 

“Perhaps I ought to explain,’^ she said, her hands 
clasping and unclasping somewhat nervously upon 
her lap, “how it was that I came to be in the posi- 
tion in which you once saw me — that position which 
I need not tell you is more than humiliating to me 
to recall as it has been so long to me — and in which 
your once companion found me and not long after- 
ward married me.’^ 

At the first information of what she was about to 
unfold the man felt like restraining her, and was 
about to raise his hand and his voice in doing so, 
but noting her intensity of manner and thinking the 
unbosoming would do her good, he remained silent. 

“That I will explain now,” she proceeded. “To 
go into it fully would be a rather long story ; but I 
will be as brief as possible, my desire being only 
to justify myself before you. 

“Why your companion should have married me 
I do not know, and I cannot explain. He, however, 
was not the first man in fairishly good circum- 
stances and of some intelligence to marry a woman 
out of my position, knowing fully what he was do- 
ing, for men who have been even much better off 
than he have done the same. The matter is really 
inexplicable, and I will not try to explain it. He 
wanted to marry me, and I being very young, igno- 
rant and thoughtless, readily consented, seeing the 
material advantage of such a union. As I told you 
before, I did not love him, nor profess to love him. 
I was honest enough in that respect — much more 
honest than many of my sisters of a higher standard 
of morality.” 


i8s 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

She raised her eyes frankly to her husband’s 
countenance at this statement and regarded him in 
silence with a calm steadfast look for a few mo- 
ments that bespoke much strength and self-control. 

There was now in her set calm deportment, and 
the look in the depth of her soft liquid eyes, much 
that recalled to the man their first meeting in the 
present surroundings, and the impression she then 
gave him of serene earnestness and strength of 
character. He nodded an encouraging acquiescence, 
and she proceeded. 

‘‘But this is not principally what I was most de- 
sirous of explaining,’ she said in her quiet, deliber- 
ate tones. “To do so I will have to begin far back 
in the beginning. This was at Williamsport, Penn- 
sylvania, where I was born, as I have previously 
told you, and where my earliest recollections began. 
My recallings of the place are dim and shadowy; 
but out of this shadowy recallings there is one thing 
that stands out clear to my view ; that is the condi- 
tion of continual poverty and striving to exist on 
very small means that beset my family and the fam- 
ilies surrounding us. That awful spectre of want, 
or threatened want, that continually haunts the 
poor, the thoughtful poor, night and day — and 
there are a good many of the latter, despite the 
contrary statements — was apparent to me even in 
these early years. 

“My parents were poor — very poor, as I have 
before told you — but honest people in their way; 
but with poor ideas of bringing up a family, as many 
people in their class have the same as all other 
classes. 

“Of the children there were three girls only. It 
seemed that fate had tried to make the burden as 
heavy and hard as possible by designing them all 
i86 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

these helpless beings. I was the youngest of the 
three. All the family is dead, I believe, except my- 
self, as I told you. Both my parents and the young- 
est sister of the two elder ones are dead, I know. 
The eldest that was married may be living for all 
I know, but she has been dead to me at least for a 
long time. 

“My father was a teamster, a rugged man with 
some crude ideas of religion and things in general, 
and possessing many good qualities. I believe the 
best I have in me I inherited from him.'' She 
paused and looked sadly across the mist of years 
for a few moments, then proceeded. 

“We moved to Philadelphia when I was very 
young. You may have heard the place referred to, 
as I have, as the most Christian city in America. 
On that I will not comment. There are, however, 
many places of worship there in evidence, as there 
is a far from scant attendance at them, if conditions 
are now as I recall them, of which I have a vivid 
recollection. 

“It was at that period when I can look back and 
clearly recollect things that we moved there. We 
moved into a poor section of the extreme southern 
end of the city, where the city streets and dwellings 
bordered the environing vegetable farms, of which 
there were many nearby with their stretch of grow- 
ing vegetables in the spring, summer, and fall 
months, and the wide reach of barrenness in winter. 
The scene is well stamped upon my memory, as it 
was about the only view that could lay claim to ru- 
ral landscape that my eyes were wont to rest upon 

for many years. And so you know " she paused 

and gazed in silence through mist dimmed eyes re- 
sultant of the recalling for a few moments — “there 
were times when I gazed across the landscape, com- 
187 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

prising a good deal that was very unlovely, with its 
dusty roads, heaps of rubbish and huge growing 
weeds, to the far distance where the two rivers meet 
that I thought it was very beautiful. Often I gazed 
upon it, as we resided in the last street down, and 
the window of the bedroom where I slept looked out 
over an unobstructed view. And despite the pov- 
erty and general and continual struggle for the fam- 
ily to exist on small means, there were times when 
we were really happy. 

“Nearly all the people surrounding us were of the 
poor laboring class with a sprinkling of the artisan 
class. They were somewhat racially mixed, but 
mostly all of American birth, the foreign born ele- 
ment not having invaded that section of the city 
at that period to any extent, to which I learned 
afterward that it was doing with an entirely new 
foreign element to that which had previously been 
coming to the country. 

“The women were chiefly of that kind, including 
my maternal parent, that find considerable time 
standing in groups about their doors gossiping with 
arms akimbo, or flitting in and out of each others' 
houses, indulging in the exchange of the latest gos- 
sip about their neighbors and other matters. If the 
gossip had been wholly of the kind that one would 
naturally expect from women of their stamp — trivial 
gossip of their sex, and occasional scandal of a deli- 
cate ixdture — it would not have been much out of 
place. But, unfortunately, it was not, for it touched 
at times on subjects in a jesting manner that ought 
to be sacred among good women, and drifted occa- 
sionally to that kind wherein the stories narrated 
depend chiefly for their wit to their grossness. 

“I have a vivid recollection of gatherings about 
hucksters' carts, wherein this amusement was not 
i88 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

infrequently indulged in amid the bargaining and 
purchasing, and the stories and jokes indulged in 
with the presiding male not infrequently reached 
very youthful and tender ears, including my own, 
that were keenly alert to their import and signifi- 
cance. There were times, however, not infrequent- 
ly when the women made half etforts at conceal- 
ment of the nature of these jokes and stories from 
the very young with significant looks, nods and half- 
whispered utterances that only intensified the curi- 
osity of those supposed not to hear or understand 
in listening and solving their import. I have often 
since wondered what effect this had upon the very 
youthful mind like my own, for their talk was in- 
delibly stamped upon my memory and often pos- 
sessed my mind, and I have often wondered since 
how women could be so lacking sense as not to 
know that young children possess faculties of un- 
derstanding as well as themselves. In this atmos- 
phere the mystery of sex became early a revealed 
book to me, as it did to many of the young about 
me. As I look back now, and all the time since I 
began to have some proper reasoning faculties, 
which I believe I early developed, this which I have 
described, and which is probably not so uncommon, 
has always seemed so senseless, and perhaps so in- 
jurious in its influence, that I have wondered how 
people, let alone women, could so entertain them- 
selves. In credit to my paternal parent, although a 
rough, uncultured man, I must say that I never 
heard him indulge in the semblance of a question- 
able joke, story or the least profanity. For this I 
bear him a very tender recollection, for he must 
have possessed a just appreciation of his responsi- 
bility to the rising generation to guard their ears 
from needless contamination. 

189 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

“In this atmosphere I was reared, my mind keen- 
ly alert and conversant of much that children of my 
age are supposed to be ignorant of. I tell you all 
this, John’’ — she looked calmly and searchingly into 
her husband’s eyes — “so that you may rightly judge 
me in comparing the early surrounding influences 
of mine with your own, which I know from what 
you have said must have been elevating and en- 
tirely free from bad influences.” 

She became silent, rested her chin in the palm of 
her hand and meditatively looked away from the 
man into the distant confines of the room. The 
latter was silent too. He sat in the same position as 
the woman, with his chin resting in his hand. His 
steadfast eyes were bent upon her with a searching, 
compassionate look. Twice or thrice his head moved 
in slow inclinations, but he did not speak. 

Then, after the lapse of a few moments, the 
woman resumed, and said : 

“Several years before I had reached my teens the 
knowledge of things that would have shocked older 
mortals of different surroundings raised little more 
than the mildest curiosity in me. This was such 
as how sex is turned to commercial advantage. The 
first revelation of this kind came to me from a 
knowledge of the married existence of my eldest 
sister, who was at least a decade older than I, there 
having been several children born between us, but 
fortunately having passed to the great unknown 
before they attained more than a few months old. 
She had married an artisan, who followed the occu- 
pation of machinist, and who occasionally lost time 
from work owing to sickness and dull trade. They 
had been married but a year or two when I learned 
somehow that they were living rent free in the 
dwelling they occupied. 


190 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

would not have you think from all this that I 
am telling you that the generality of the people of 
the neighborhood about me, and with which I came 
in contact, were immoral, for I am sure they were 
not. I would not do them such wrong as ito cast 
unjust reflection on them. Most of them were 
honest, good moral people, and generally led up- 
right, honest lives. Many of them, however, might 
have been much better. But we ought not to be 
too severe in condemning them when all is consid- 
ered — the lack of uplifting influences, the continual 
struggle amid surroundings of which much is sor- 
did and mean, the surroundings of which there is 
little chance of bettering, and of which much tends 
to develop baseness in many rather than high ideals. 
Much may seem reprehensible to you, as it does to 
me, in our superior environments, and as it did 
when I began to rise above theirs, but it might all 
have seemed different if my surroundings and limi- 
tations had been as theirs, for the majority of peo- 
ple are a product of environments and circum- 
stances as well as heredity. Some, I believe, there 
are who can rise superior to all these influences, 
heredity, environment and circumstances, no mat- 
ter how onerous they all may be, but they are very 
rare individuals indeed. The many fail in better 
conditions — much better than a combination of all 
these against them. 

“I would have liked to believe as time went on 
that the husband of my sister was unacquainted with 
the true conditions, and I often tried to do so, but 
there were too many hard facts against my estab- 
lishing that belief in my mind or entertaining it for 
any considerable period. 

“I know, John,'' she went on after a brief pause, 
regarding her husband with a steady, penetrating 

191 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

gaze, “it must strike you with horror at the idea of 
such a condition and such a man ; but I think that 
such conditions and such men are not so exceed- 
ingly rare as generally supposed. They may be 
due to various causes — moral weakness, physical 
weakness and the present industrial conditions that 
mercilessly drives the weak to the wall. Of course 
we know that real manhood could not sink to such 
degradation so long as there was some other way — 
which there always is. 

“I early turned to work, or was rather turned to 
work, to add to the income of the home when the 
supposed law said I should be at school. I procured 
employment in a match factory, where the hours 
were very long and the remuneration very small. 
The work was very unhealthy, and I was occasion- 
ally absent through sickness. 

“Afterward I procured a situation in a large de- 
partment store as cash girl, and when I got old 
enough was promoted to salesgirl. Here I was 
thrown amid a better class of my sex than I had 
ever met before. They were generally well-dressed 
good-looking and fairly intelligent — qualities that 
the average Philadelphia salesgirl or saleswoman 
generally possess — though there was a goodly 
sprinkling of fools among them, as there generally 
is among women. 

“Especially did they seem to me to be generally 
good-looking at the period I refer to. This threw 
them in much temptation. I was often astonished at 
the ease with which an entire stranger could strike 
up an acquaintance with some of them, make an 
engagement to meet them at night, and take them 
to theatres and suppers, if he was fairly passable 
in appearance, possessed a gullable tongue and 
spoke of his position or prospects being good. 

192 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

r 

“There were many of the girls, nevertheless, who 
would not listen to such men if they talked any- 
thing but the business they were about or supposed 
to be about. Strange, despite all the influences that 
should have worked otherwise, I was among the lat- 
ter class and attended only to my business when I 
was at work. 

“My unmarried sister, Ella, the next to me. in 
age, was also employed in a large department store. 
She was dissimilar to me in much, for I always re- 
call her as spirited, thoughtless and light-hearted, 
like many of her companions. The concern where 
she worked was one that paid notoriously small 
wages. However, I do not suppose the pay was 
much different to the other places of its kind, as it 
is small enough in all of them. Its proprietor, who 
was also its general manager, some time later 
gained an unenviable reputation in Philadelphia — 
at least among a considerable number of its people 
who happened to know of the facts, or had learned 
something of the matter — for the manner in which 
he was wont to reply to the requests of salesgirls 
for increased wages, by asking them if they could 
not find a man friend to aid them. One would be 
apt to conclude, who was conversant with worldly 
affairs, that such a concern, directed by one so un- 
scrupulous and villianous, would expand and wax 
fat, as is generally the case in such like circum- 
stances. But contrary to what would be naturally 
expected, the business decreased as time went on, 
as others in the same line expanded, the place was 
reduced in size and ultimately a few years ago it 
went out of business entirely, some Nemesis seem- 
ingly pursuing it and overtaking it gradually till 
ruin came finally. 

“Ella was said to be the best looking in the fam- 

193 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ily. I did not see a great deal of her at this time, 
as she was very fond of company, which I was not, 
and always had some place to go. When she came 
home for the evening meal, which she did not al- 
ways do, she would soon leave, and I would not see 
her again until the following morning when I was 
arising from rest, or had about concluded my break- 
fast and was about starting out for my place of 
employment, I choosing to walk rather than ride 
for the sake of the few pennies I saved thereby, and 
the health-giving exercise I tried to make myself 
and others believe it gave me.” She paused and 
looked at her husband with a faint, sad, piti- 
ful semblance of a smile. “The health-giv- 
ing exercise,” she repeated, proceeding with a 
far-off look, “of walking more than two full 
miles over generally uneven brick pavements, that 
held so tenaciously the heat of the scorching sun in 
summer, and the cold, damp snow, ice and slush in 
winter and spring, and then standing about ten long 
hours on my feet behind a counter subject to any- 
body's whim in an unhealthy atmosphere for wages 
so pitifully small that it would not have paid my 
board and clothe me if I had not been living at 
home.” She shook her head slowly for a few mo- 
ments in silence at this retrospect. 

The man also shook his head and remained silent, 
and no sound broke the quiet save the occasional 
slight gusts of wind and rain spending their force 
against the surrounding foliage and the window. 
But the look he bent upon her through his agonized 
countenance bespeaking unutterable sympathy told 
her more than mere words could have done of his 
feelings for her, and for what she had suffered. 

She returned a look of gratitude and proceeded. 

“Finally my sister Ella lost her situation and was 
194 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

out of employment for a considerable time. Even 
then she did not seem to lack for money except oc- 
casionally in paying her board, and was about as 
much away from home as ever. 

“About this time a young man of the neighbor- 
hood where we resided was showing me much at- 
tention. The generality of the girls of my acquaint- 
ance referred to this association as keeping com- 
pany. 

“He occasionally took me out to the park on Sun- 
days and to the theatres at rare intervals, for which 
kindness I was very grateful. One winter night, a 
few months before I first saw you, we had been 
to a theatre and afterward to a restaurant and had 
some supper. The hour was very late, it was nearly 
midnight, and we were walking along Chestnut 
Street, the principal thoroughfare of the city, to- 
ward the street cars that would take us near home, 
when I saw a solitary female form on the other side 
of the street walking in the opposite direction to us 
and soon to pass us. The streets of Philadelphia 
used to be very deserted at such a late hour. I soon 
saw that it was my sister Ella, and the sight of her 
at that time of night, walking alone along that al- 
most deserted street so far from her home and the 
direction of it made me turn sick and weak and 
hot and cold at intervals, as the resurrecting of the 
scene has many a time done so in a lesser degree. 
I can now see her plainly as I saw her then, and 
often in the passing years, haunting my memory, 
has her form risen before me out of the shadows 
as it did that night, though it is long ago and she 
has long since passed to the shadows herself when 
her years were so few. Poor, weak Ella ! 

“As she drew near I tried not to see her, and 
looked straight ahead fearful lest I should draw the 

195 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

attention of my companion in her direction. In this 
my efforts were in vain, for he saw her, much to 
my shame. This I knew from the look he gave 
me, though he passed no remark about her. But 
his silence upon the matter, after glancing at her 
and then at me, after she had passed, was so em- 
barrassing to me as if he had remarked about see- 
ing her, if not more so. 

“There was a little more familiarity about him 
that night when he was saying good-by, which I 
think I would have resented if it had not been for 
the incident of seeing my sister as we had. But 
I felt humiliated, cheapened, sick of everything and 
devoid of my customary pride and dimity. I lost 
more of this at other meetings — and — it, it was the 
same, same story. I need not say more. 

“After a time he showed a coldness toward me, 
and the fact was plain that he was tired of me and 
did not want any more to do with me. Then I met 
a girl who proposed to go to New York City, hold- 
ing out alluring descriptions of that place, and I 
went, as I did not care where I went, I was so 
glad to get away from those that knew me and my 
family, and from all the surroundings that had been 
mine. I was sick of them all.’^ The latter words 
were uttered in evidently much weariness and sick- 
ness of heart. 

After concluding she gazed across the room in 
silent contemplation with a set, immovable stare for 
a few moments, then buried her face in her hands. 
The latter action, however, was not resultant of 
weakness or a breaking down, but due to the utter 
weariness and anguish of mind. 

Throughout the narrative she had shown much 
evidence of the spirit that had possessed her through 
life, and little evidence of the woman broken and 
196 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

crushed. Once or twice her voice had broken 
slightly and a mist had dimmed her eyes, indicat- 
ing a weakening, but with an effort she had mas- 
tered these and proceeded with strength — calm and 
strength, her long dominant characteristics. 

Now she looked up with much strength in her 
face, and a little defiance, to meet bravely whatever 
was befalling her. 

The husband rose from the chair and paced ner- 
vously across the width of the room, and back and 
forth, his brows drawn, his eyes bespeaking the 
agony that moved him. 

“God help us all,” he said in a choking, trembling 
voice; “it is a hard world for some of us — for 
many. The life of the many is a hard and bitter 
struggle against want, temptation and adversity. 
Why it should be so with an abundance of every- 
thing in the world for all, I do not know, unless 
it be that selfishness, rapacity and greed, the most 
primitive animal traits, are yet the most dominant 
ones. If they are not the most dominant ones, why 
should men who possess so much, and are supposed 
to be reasoning beings, exert themselves to the ut- 
most to cheat and crush their fellows by any means 
possible when that which they may gain will be pos- 
sessed of but for a brief period, for the longest life 
is only a short span, and all of us who are living 
will soon be gone, and the wrong and injury they 
do may live forever. It almost chokes me now 
when I realize all you have gone through, my wife, 
and that that brute who was here should have added 
so much to your sufferings.” 

A long-drawn sigh of anguish, almost a groan, 
escaped him. 

“That I did not take him by the throat,” he went 
on with vehemence, clenching his hand and increas- 
197 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

ing his pace, ^'and squeeze the life out of him, I do 
not know, unless it be that he was such an arrant 
craven, showing no particle of spirit, that I could 
not touch him.” The utter impotency of this out- 
burst of wrath was very enervating and tiring, and 
after it had subsided he sank spiritlessly into a chair 
in front of the small table facing the window, rest- 
ing his face in his hands, with his elbows upon the 
table for support, and gazed forth at the dismal 
scene without of dull gray lake and sky. 

His wife’s eyes followed the direction of his gaze 
and become rivetted upon the same dreary scene. 

“It is a dreary world of suffering and pain,” she 
said, immovably looking without, her breath coming 
hard and her bosom moving tumultuously. “So 
much suffering and pain.” 

“Yes, God help us all, it is sometimes,” he mur- 
mured. “But you and I will go hand in hand to 
the end, alleviating each other’s burdens and sor- 
row as we agreed to do at the beginning. You will 
always have my love and sympathy ; you have noth- 
ing to fear; you will be always the same to me, as 
I told you long ago, no matter what betide.” The 
look of compassion bent upon her carried assurance 
with the words. 

She returned a look of gratitude. 

“God bless you, John, for your words,” she re- 
plied ; and with him she turned her gaze and looked 
without again. 

The great expanse of lake and sky upon which 
they gazed was one unbroken gray mass, with no 
visible meeting line in the far-off haze. The rain 
was still descending, small fine rain, falling cease- 
lessly upon the drenched foliage and soddened 
grass, and driven occasionally in gusts against the 
window panes. The wind was swaying the trees 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

and branches murmuring and sighing in accents like 
a voice in pain and distress. Afternoon was now 
waning and evening approaching, its descending 
shadows adding to the gloom of the day, and 
though the season was summer, yet a chill of au- 
tumnal intensity was in the air. 

As the man continued to gaze upon the scene he 
felt a drowsiness creeping over him, overmastering 
him in his weariness. His eyelids closed, a numb- 
ness stole over his faculties, and he slept, with his 
face resting in his hands. 

The woman looked from the dreary scene without 
to the slumbering man. Everything to her bespoke 
dreariness, pain and suffering. The wind continued 
murmuring and sighing, the rain descending, sob- 
bing drearily as it fell. She watched the slumber- 
ing man for a time without moving. Then she rose 
to her feet and noiselessly drew a little nearer to 
him, putting forth her utmost efforts at silence. 

“Oh, John,’' she whispered, “Oh, John, if it had 
only been different.” The words were uttered in a 
long-drawn sob of anguish, her hands stretching 
toward her husband as she spoke. Then with a 
silent, long, lingering look bespeaking ineffable 
agony, she turned away from him, left the room 
and stole into the child’s sleeping apartment, where 
it rested in its afternoon slumber. 

She kissed the child tenderly without waking it 
and left as noiselessly as she came, stealing into 
her husband’s room. She had little more than en- 
tered when a loud, sharp report rang out, echoing 
throughout the house, arousing the drowsy domes- 
tics from the lethargy in which they had been going 
about their work, and awakening the slumbering 
man. 


199 


CHAPTER XXII. 


At the sound John Langworth's hands fell from 
his face and he stared around in suddenly awak- 
ened bewilderment for a few moments. Then he 
rose to his feet in the same manner, looking about 
as the two maids haltingly climbed the stairs and 
reached the top breathlessly with blanched, af- 
frighted faces. 

He had not been in sound slumber, but in a half- 
asleep comatose condition with troubled visions of 
his wife flitting confusedly, fantastically across his 
brain. In that condition the noise that startled him 
reached his ears like the sharp clap of two boards 
together. 

Now as his faculties cleared and he saw the as- 
pect of the two women, and no evidence of his wife 
as he gazed around hurriedly for her, who it ap- 
peared, had been with him but a minute or two pre- 
viously, a dread that something terrible had hap- 
pened to her seized him. This was intensified al- 
most to conviction when his keen nostrils caught 
the scent of exploded gunpowder. 

'‘Where is she — my wife?” he gasped, springing 
from the room, meeting the affrighted gaze of the 
two women, his own eyes for the instant but little 
less terrified with the dread of the coming revelation 
than their own. 

They looked at him in bewilderment, with 
blanched affrighted faces and essayed some reply 
but he did not wait to hear. He brushed them aside 
and sprang toward the partly open door of his own 
room. The sight within confirmed the terrible 
200 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

dread that had possessed him and a moan of anguish 
burst from his lips. He stood for an instant too 
overcome to move, too stricken for action, his body 
reeling. 

His wife was lying stretched out upon the bed, 
the dim gray light from the window falling upon 
her white face and the nearby environing objects. 
His own glittering revolver, lying upon the floor 
by the bedside and the slowly rising diffusing blue 
smoke reaching the ceiling in a dense mass, told too 
plainly what had happened. Her eyes were wide 
open and she moved slightly as if conscious of his 
presence when he made his appearance. 

He was the strong man of action in an instant, 
and was by her side the next moment looking into 
her eyes, holding her hand, his blanched face and 
set, constrained agonized gaze bent upon her 
searchingly. 

“Thank God, she lives, he murmured fervently 
to himself, conscious beyond doubt of the life in her 
body from the labored breathing reaching his ears 
and the accompanied moving of her breast, oblivi- 
ous for the time being to her possible nearness to 
dissolution in the realization that she still lived. 

The woman heard the words though they were 
scarcely audible and a great wave of pity for the 
man moved her being, dimming her large wistful 
eyes with tears. 

“What has happened? Did you do it? How 
could you do it?’' he gasped in hurried agonized 
accents, his steadfast eyes reproaching her. As he 
spoke his eyes realizing no visible mark or wound 
about her that could have been made by a bullet, 
he commenced to tear open her bodice and under- 
clothing and soon revealed her breast. 

“It is here, John.” she murmured faintly, “here," 
201 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

she added, moving her hand to her left breast. ‘^It 
is better so,” she went on with a calmness that was 
in marked contrast to her husband’s eager, breath- 
less alertness in rendering what help he could to 
her. 

“I want to go, John, I am so tired of it all — it all 
except your love. I was fearful lest I might lose it 
now — your love. That I could not endure — endure 
th^ possibility of it. I would sooner die a thou- 
sand times than live to lose that — live to realize that 
you thought less of me and your love was becoming 
or might become a thing of the past. Yes, John, it 
is better so as it is now. I have been so tired, so 
utterly tired and worn out for some time. I com- 
menced the battle so early in life that I am now tired 
out and want to rest.” 

As she spoke he had located the wound, a small 
red mark at the lower region of the heart, which 
was scarcely visible to his first scrutiny, but which 
was now becoming more plainly seen as the pressure 
of the clothing was no longer resisting the issuance 
of the crimson fluid. He then turned to the women 
standing near and ordered them to hurry for some 
nearby physicians. Then he procured restoratives 
which he administered to his wife, and staunching 
the slight flow from the wound he raised her head 
higher upon the pillow, with one arm supporting 
her, and awaited the coming of the doctors. 

‘Tt is useless, John,” she murmured feebly. ‘T 
have made sure of this. Nothing can save me now 
— nothing. I shall be gone probably before the doc- 
tors come; no earthly skill can be of any avail.” 
She turned her eyes pityingly upon him as she spoke, 
love and sympathy for him moving her to some 
regret for what she had done. 

“But it is better for them to come,” she went on 
202 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

in a resigned manner after two or three moments’ 
silent reflection ; “better, for the trouble it will save. 
But I wish to be alone with you, John, for the short 
time. I feel myself going now fast. I seem to be 
drifting away from you at times, and only your 
hold seems to restrain me. Is it getting darker ? Or 
is it the coming darkness of the closing day She 
asked the latter with a questioning look, then gazed 
about her into the confines of the distant gloom for 
an instant and turned her eyes upon her husband’s 
countenance. 

The man did not reply after he glanced at the un- 
settled unchanging gloom of the room which was 
of the same dreary grayness reflected from the dun 
sky, the leaden lake and the rain-charged space in- 
tervening, that it had been for some time. 

A sob escaped him wrung from him despite all 
his efforts to hold it back. He began to realize 
that she spoke the truth, and that no earthly power 
v/ould be able to remedy matters. 

For a few seconds no sound broke the stillness, 
but the faint murmuring of the wind and the light 
beating of the rain. 

“It is hard to leave you so, John,” she resumed 
in the same feeble murmuring tones ; “we have been 
so happy together. But it is better so. Besides, it 
would all come to an end some day before long. 
Even the longest life is but a short span, and all 
who are now here will soon be all gone, as you 
yourself a little while ago said. And I believe we 
shall meet again though I do not have much faith 
in the orthodox stories of the other life, as you 
know from the talk we have had.” 

“But it is here I want you,” replied the man 
brokenly. “You have been my life, my whole ex- 
istence, for which I have struggled these past years 
203 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

since I met you. How could I now live without 
you? It would break my heart. You are the only 
woman that ever entered my life, the only one that 
I shall ever love. I shall always love you, love you, 
no matter what intervenes as I told you so long 
ago when I asked you to be my wife, for your heart 
and soul are as pure as any woman’s ever were, and 
will always be so to me.” He pressed his lips ten- 
derly to the woman’s as he spoke the last few words 
assuring her of his undoubted undying love. 

Her sad eyes beamed the gratitude she felt. Her 
lips moved, but the sound therefrom was such a 
succession of faint quavering notes that the man 
had to lower his head even nearer her lips to catch 
the import. 

'‘Ah, John, you’ve been good — ’SO good,” she mur- 
mured. "You are so good that it is hard to part 
from you, and to realize that this is the end of it all. 
But we shall meet again, I think we shall. I be- 
lieve we shall when — when we shall probably re- 
member and forget. Remember much that we would 
not care to live again without remembering, and 
forget much too that it is better to forget. Or 
even if we do not forget that, it may appear in a 
different light then, to us, in our different under- 
standing — all — all that we would rather forget.” 

She paused a few moments and resuming, said : 

"I believe I am going now, as it is getting much 
darker and I feel a numbness creeping over me. You 
will take care of our little one, John; see that she 
never wants for that care that is necessary for her 
safety till she reaches that age when she is safe to 
care — care for herself, or is safe in the care of some 
good man like — like you, John ; like — like you.” 

Her mind now, like her sight, was becoming 
densely blurred and clouded. She could scarcely 
204 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

think any more, or see but the dim outlines of her 
husband’s form and feel but the presence of his 
hand and arm. If not for these she would have 
felt she was floating away into space. She made a 
slight move of her head toward him, and her lips 
moved, but no sound came from them. 

The man pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes closed 
in a blinding mist, a faint sigh escaped her, and she 
lay still and inert as two men were shown into 
the room by one of the maids. 

The husband thought she was dead until he 
slipped his arm from about her and felt the faint 
beating of her heart 

“Does she still live?” asked one of the men draw- 
ing nearer the bed. 

The former turned with streaming eyes and 
bowed his head in reply to the inquirer whom he 
recognized, as well as the other, as a practitioner of 
the neighborhood. His heart was too near bursting 
with grief to give utterance in words, and he drew 
aside still holding the clasped hand of his wife to 
miake room for an examination by the others. 

Both had been apprised fully of the nature of the 
happening, and had come adequately prepared to 
meet the worst emergency. 

The examination was brief. The elder of the two 
shook his head at its conclusion, and expressed his 
fears of what conditions showed. He was much 
older than John Langworth, and much more experi- 
enced, as was the other, in medical science. 

“It is evident she is very weak and sinking fast,” 
he said, still bending over the form upon the bed 
and watching the labored breathing. “However,” 
he went on turning hurriedly to the others, “we 
will try all that can possibly be of any avail.” 

But after they had tried all that was possible in 
205 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

improving conditions by the aid of remedial agen- 
cies, some of them powerful ones, generally used 
as a last resort in holding life in the body, any im- 
provement failed to show except but briefly. ^ Then, 
despite all efforts, there was a gradual sinking. 
When this was evidently unarrestable the aged prac- 
titioner shook his head and said in subdued tones: 
“Dissolution is apparently close at hand. There is 
nothing, I believe, would save her. There would 
not be one chance in a thousand of saving her by 
an operation, for there has not been from the start, 
and there is not one chance in a thousand that she 
would live throughout it. It would be useless, I 
believe, and is useless.’^ 

The only sound that broke the silence for a few 
moments after this announcement was the sobbing 
of the two women standing near the door, ming- 
ling with the sobbing of the rain without and mur- 
murings of the storm, as all immovably regarded 
the calm white face and still form upon the bed. 

The husband bowed his head resignedly to fate, 
realizing the inevitable, too stricken for words, 
scarcely able to realize it all. The end came soon, 
even sooner than was expected. The practitioner 
had but made the announcement a minute or two 
previously when a faint sigh escaped the pale lips, 
a slight quaver passed over the body and it lay still, 
still with that awful silence that is appalling to all 
except those very hardened in soul and body. 

The aged doctor bent over the form for evidence 
of the heart beat and respiration. “She is gone,” 
he said in sad tones as he straightened himself up. 
“Dead as it is meant we shall all be in a few brief 
years,” he went on gravely, sympathetically gazing 
at the grief-stricken man, who had realized the end 
as soon as the others. 


206 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

John Langworth buried his face in his hands up- 
on the pillow alongside the calm marble face of the 
woman, and sobs shook his strong frame. 

The grave-faced white-haired doctor moved soft- 
ly from the bedside toward the door and motioned 
to his less aged companion to follow. Then he 
waved the weeping housemaids aside and drew the 
door gently to after him, leaving the sorrow-stricken 
man alone to his grief, which he thought was best. 
He led the way into the nearest apartment, which 
had been the woman’s room, and instructed the 
other to inform the coroner as soon as possible of 
the happening and signified his intention of awaiting 
that functionary’s coming to explain matters so as 
to relieve the bereaved man of as much of the try- 
ing ordeal as was in his power of doing. From the 
domestics he learned that their mistress had been 
in troubled mind and poor health for some time, 
and the tragedy was likely the result of that condi- 
tion. 

This he unfolded to the coroner when he called, 
and when the latter was shown into the room where 
the lonely man still sat with his grief and his dead, 
his stay was of the briefest and his questions as few 
as the law demanded as necessary. Then he with- 
drew, silently nodding to the aged doctor that all 
was satisfactory. 

The latter extended his hand silently to his be- 
reaved fellow practitioner, and told him that the 
necessary papers would be made out and signed be- 
low, and asked feelingly if any further help could 
be rendered. Receiving a negative reply and thanks 
for all his thoughtfulness and kindness he withdrew 
and John Langworth was left alone again with his 
grief and his dead. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


The murky gloom of the wet, stormy evening 
gave way quickly to darkness of night when John 
Langworth was left alone, alone save for the silent 
form lying upon the bed by the side of which he 
sat. Though the darkness grew about him till he 
could scarcely discern objects except the marble 
countenance near him, the alabaster outlines of fea- 
tures so beautiful in contour, but dreadful in their 
calmness, yet he had no desire to break upon the 
encompassing gloom with a light, the environing 
darkness that suited the blackness of his own agony 
and despair. 

As the darkness of night descended and gathered 
the storming elements gradually ceased their activ- 
ity. The rain no longer descended in driving gusts 
against the environing foliage and windows, but 
came in a faint, steady patter accompanied by a 
scarcely discernible murmur and sighing, and soon 
all was about as quiet as the form lying upon the 
bed. 

For a long time the man felt no desire to move, 
no desire for anything but to sit alone with his dead 
and his bitter grief, too stricken and overcome to 
think clearly and fully realize his position. After a 
time, however, the pain, the sharp, poignant agoniz- 
ing pain, became a little less acute, a trifle numbed, 
and he could think somewhat more clearly. 

With this change came a recalling of the im- 
parted information of the kindly aged brother prac- 
titioner regarding the permit for burial, and with 
this recalling of what had to take place came an- 
208 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

other outburst of grief, but with it a clearer un- 
derstanding of his position and the duty before him 
that called for his attention. Yet it was difficult 
for him at times to realize fully that the closed eyes 
facing him were closed to him for ever, the stilled 
and beloved voice silenced never again to awaken to 
sound, and harder yet to understand that a day or 
two would see the form conveyed to its last resting- 
place beneath the sod. Difficult also was it to com- 
prehend that the condition brought about had been 
the happening of but a few hours, all within the 
compass of a part of this day that was just now 
closing in about him with all its encompassing 
gloom. It had seemed a long time ago, much more 
than a few hours, until he looked back recalling 
clearly all the happenings of the day — his departure 
from home in the early forenoon, his cheerful, af- 
fectionate good-by to his wife after a light luncheon, 
with but one anxiety possessing him, the anxiety 
about her health and manner ; his return in the early 
afternoon, and the revelations and accusations con- 
cerning the man he had thought a friend at least, 
though he had not rated him very highly as such, 
and the later unfoldings by his wife of her sordid 
bitter past, with the tragedy following. 

Now, when this recalling came clear to him and 
he thought of the part the man had played, the man 
whom he had believed a friend, bound by ties of 
gratitude for services rendered about as great as 
could be rendered by one mortal to another, one 
risking his life to save the other’s, a thirst for ven- 
geance swept over him like the force of an ava- 
lanche. All his inertness vanished, and he rose, 
pacing the floor with quick, strong strides. It was 
the first time he had felt a thirst for vengeance 
since the blow had fallen. Now it welled in his 
209 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

breast, surging throughout his whole being. He 
clenched his hand with impotent fury. 

“God help him !” he cried. “God help him if he 
ever crosses my path again, for I’ll show him as 
much mercy as he has shown me and mine. And — 
God help me !” The latter words were uttered in a 
long, pitiful moan of anguish — anguish wrung from 
the innermost depth of his being. He paused as he 
spoke, and buried his aching, throbbing head in the 
hollow of his hands. Then he thought of the time 
when he dragged Hilkley Tweedwell from the surg- 
ing, onrushing tide to the banks of the river. 

“If I but had him there again,” he went on, 
hoarsely, drawing himself up and clenching his 
hands ; “there with my hand at his throat front, fac- 
ing him squarely, instead of at his back, as when I 
pulled him from the tide, then I’d drive him back 
foot by foot, despite his bulk and size. Yes. foot 
by foot,” he cried, in the same hoarse tones, raising 
his clenched hands before him, his brows knitting, 
his eyes gleaming, bending his body forward, trem- 
bling and tense and pressing his feet with great 
strength to the floor, as if he held the man in his 
grasp. “Yes, foot by foot, till he was beyond his 
depth ; then I’d force him from me with all my 
power into the deep current, and I’d hear again his 
wild shriek of terror ringing in my ears, as I heard 
that terrible night before, when his cry drew me to 
his side, and I would see his carrion carcase going 
down to death, which it should have gone to in that 
rushing flow, then — he and I would be quits.” 

This outburst seemingly did him much good. 
After it had subsided he felt greatly relieved. A 
normal calm came over him and he prepared to 
attend to the matters calling for his service. 

During the passing of the following day that in- 
210 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

tervened that of the tragedy and the consigning of 
the body to its last resting-place, he decided on the 
course he was to take governing his future. He 
felt an utter impossibility to continue in the one he 
had followed when he had the companionship of 
his wife. He felt at the best that he was a broken 
man, but he knew that he would be much more so 
if he remained amongst the surroundings whose as- 
sociations would remind him continually of what 
had been and what might have been so different. 

At this realization he heard the West, the great 
wide North-west, the mother of oblivion, of vast- 
ness, illimitableness, of the mountains and the 
plains, of his once friends and kin, of a primitive, 
stalwart manhood and morality, though not entirely 
unsullied by vice, yet of a much cleaner purity in 
comparison to the crowded hives of men, calling 
him thither with much greater intensity than had 
been its once previous calling of him from the older 
civilization, with its vice and crime that had been 
repugnant to him. He felt that there he would be 
away from much that was painful, and his little 
daughter much more safe from contamination, and 
he decided to go. 

On the morning of the funeral, when he stood 
alone in the familiar front reception-room in the 
presence of the dead, taking his last sorrowful un- 
witnessed farewell of the cold, inanimate form of 
his wife before the few friends arrived who had 
been asked to be present at the last rites that custom 
and religion called for, the little child toddled into 
the room and to the father’s knee as the man stood 
by the black-draped casket. 

The scene was a simple one free from any os- 
tentatious display as was his desire, and as he knew 
would have been the desire of the one that was gone. 

211 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

There was no display of costly elaborate wreaths 
and flowers. A few simple garlands lay upon the 
casket and nearby, that was all. 

From the brightness without, filtering into the 
dimly-lighted room through the lace curtains and 
a narrow aperture of the closed Venetian blinds, a 
long diffused beam of pale golden sunlight fell 
softly upon the calm marble face of the dead and the 
wan face bending over it, the living one with a set- 
tled calm and pallor, almost matching the other save 
for the gaunt haggardness that grief and pain had 
wrought upon it, illuming them both with strange 
weird lights and shadows. The man looked as if 
he had passed through so much suffering and pain 
that all the color had been scorched out of his face, 
all the light from his eyes and all the vigor and 
spirit from his tall, strong frame. 

The child looked curiously up into the face of 
the father and then at the face of the dead that 
could just be discerned from where she stood. 

“Is mamma sleeping,” she lisped, “sleeping now, 
papa ?” 

The man did not reply immediately. His heart 
was too full for utterance. He had believed that 
all his tears had been dried up since his great out- 
burst of grief on the day of the tragedy. But now 
the flood-gates of his sorrow were opened again 
and tears coursed down his cheeks afresh. He gath- 
ered the child up in his arms and kissed her ten- 
derly as she looked wonderingly in his tear-wet face. 

“Yes, my darling,” he said brokenly, “mamma is 
sleeping.” As he spoke he held the child so she 
could see and touch the marble countenance. Then 
hearing a ring at the door-bell and realizing, as he 
looked at the clock, that the hour for the last rites 


212 


A Mother of Unborn Generations 

had arrived, he put the child down and resumed his 
previous calm exterior. 

The day after the simple funeral when the body 
had been laid away in a suburban resting-place of 
the dead, and the bereaved man had dismissed the 
domestics and said good-bye to them, he took one 
last look at the home that had been his and his 
wife’s, closed all the shutters, locked everything up 
and started with his child on his westward journey. 

The house had belonged to his wife and he hated 
to either rent or sell it, and so he left it just as it 
had been when they had occupied it. He felt there 
might be a time in years when the keen poignancy 
and bitterness of his grief had worn away some- 
what that he might probably want to look at it again. 

As the man and the child journeyed westward, 
many a pair of eyes on the train looked curiously at 
the gaunt tragic face of the former, on which the 
indelible stamp of grief was written, and read in 
the presence of the little child unaccompanied by 
a maternal guardian the story of bereavement. 

Some kindly fellow passengers spoke to the child 
and to the man ; but though the latter felt grateful 
for the attention kindly meant and especially to the 
child, yet he preferred to be alone with his thoughts. 
He never spoke to anyone excepting the child un- 
less spoken to. He would sit still, eyeing her,» tracing 
the remarkable likeness to the dead mother, gravely 
and patiently answering all the strange little ques- 
tions put to him by the lisping tongue as the eyes 
that so much resembled her mother looked into his 
own. 

“Yes, we are going home,’’ he answered, when 
they had been passing for some time across the 
wide boundless prairies, and were reaching the vi- 
cinity of the foothills. “We’ll soon be home now.” 
213 


'A Mother of Unborn Generations 

Then he added to himself : “We’ll be home where 
you’ll be safe, safe from much that is evil and 
which besets the footsteps of the many — the many 
that are the mothers of the race. If they are not 
early guarded from that which is evil what will 
come of the race? For depending upon them — the 
Mothers of Unborn Generations — is much, much 
that is potent and far-reaching in scope for good 
and evil, vast, vast, illimitable.” 

Heavily oppressed in mind and body by the 
thoughts called forth he sat immovable for a time, 
his chin resting in his hand, his face set, his eyes 
gazing into space, but seeing nothing where they 
were directed. 

Then, turning to the child by his side, whose eyes 
heavy with slumber looked up mutely and met his 
own, he placed his arm shelteringly about the small 
form and drew it to him as the eyes closed in re- 
poseful slumber. Then as he gazed at the fair in- 
nocent face resting in slumber upon his arm, and 
out upon the departing dull day with its heavily 
clouded sky to t‘he far-off distance where the hori- 
zon was widely cleft, showing its soft silver lining 
of ambient light, a wonderful strength and calm 
came into his face and he drew the child still more 
shelteringly to him. 


[The End.] 


214 


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